


Holo Taco

by gallantrejoinder



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous references to simplynailogical, Internalized Transphobia, LGBTQ Themes, Nail Polish, Nail art, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pining, Slight ignorance regarding asexuality and nonbinarism, Yes lads it's the nonbinary Todd extravaganza, do not copy to another site, obviously, warnings for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-10-21 03:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Dirk has had a lot of passing hobbies over the years, but for some reason, nail art issticking. Worse still, Dirk's getting good at it the more he practices.It bothers Todd more than he wants to admit that Dirk never asks to practice onhim.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to watch Cristine's videos to understand this fic, but she is quite a lot of fun, so here's a [link](https://www.youtube.com/user/simplynailogical/videos/). The title is a reference to the fact that she likes holographic nail polishes and pronounces 'top coat' like 'taco.' (I believe she even created a nail polish by that name!) So yes, no tacos in this fic.
> 
> I love love love all the trans guy Todd headcanons out there, but my take in this fic is AMAB Todd slowly discovering his nonbinary identity, just FYI since I know it's not the most popular headcanon! I myself am not AMAB but the writing will be heavily informed by my own experiences as a NB person. However, if any transfem or other non-AFAB people have an issue with the way I've written things, I'm happy to have a chat about it. (Messaging on [my Tumblr](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/) would be preferred if possible!)

Todd, over the course of living and working with Dirk Gently, has walked in on a lot of strange situations. He can deal with a group of adult men dressed as various items of furniture. He can deal with a life-sized clown statue covered in spaghetti. He can even deal with an A-list celebrity who can’t remember their name sitting dazed in the kitchen, in full stage make-up.

But none of those things are quite as disconcerting as Dirk staring intensely at the screen of Todd’s laptop, which Dirk has evidently stolen from Todd’s bedroom.

_Oh, shit_, is Todd’s first thought. His second is _fuck_. He’s got _lyrics_ on that laptop.

Dirk turns towards him, standing frozen in the doorway to the kitchen, and there’s a manic glint in his eyes.

“Todd,” he says slowly, looking dazed, and Todd braces himself. “Have you heard of simply nailogical?”

Todd feels like he’s just narrowly avoided being hit by a truck, only to get clipped by a passing cyclist. No lyrics, then. Thank god.

He scrambles to think of something to say. “What’s simply nail-logi- simply nail – that?”

Dirk’s face lights up. It’s kinda cute, but is, in Todd’s experience, an expression that spells trouble.

“_She_,” Dirk exclaims, “is a tubeyou audio-visual creator.”

“A Youtuber?” Todd makes an expression of disgust as he walks over to the kitchen sink to dump a dish that’s been sitting next to his bed for a few days. He thinks about washing it, but rationalises that Dirk wants to chat right now. Dishes can wait.

“That thing, yes. She does _nail art_.” Dirk looks pleased when Todd chooses to sit down on the sofa next to him.

“… With … wood?”

Dirk rolls his eyes. “_No_, Todd, you ridiculous man, how would she even make pieces small enough? She uses nail polish.”

Right. Nail polish. Todd’s an idiot, but he’s not gonna tell Dirk that. “So, what, she just paints her nails and that’s the channel?” He squints at the screen of the laptop, upon which he can see several clickbait-y looking titles. ‘_Giving My Boyfriend Banana Nails (peel me baby)_’ is the name of one, the red bar indicating Dirk has already watched it. Jesus Christ.

“Todd.” That’s Dirk’s condescending voice. Evidently Todd has miss-stepped. “It’s not just painting nails. It’s about the _art_. The glitter. The color. The _holo_.”

“What?” Todd sits back away from the screen of the laptop, still perched on Dirk’s lap, to stare at him.

Dirk rolls his eyes. “Look, just watch one with me and you’ll see.”

Dirk clicks on a video titled ‘NYC Subway Map Nail Art’ before Todd can protest. Well, he tries to, but Dirk just shushes him, and Todd’s got nothing better to do, so he just sighs and accepts his fate.

The video isn’t as clickbait-y as it looks, in fairness. The woman who does the nail art – Cristine _without an H, Todd, really_ – is charming enough, and surprisingly down-to-earth for a Youtuber with a subscription count so ludicrously high. Plus, her boyfriend seems like he might actually like her, which is more than a lot of Youtube couples can say. And the nails themselves are pretty cool in the end.

But still, the mild entertainment Todd gets out of the video is nothing compared to the excitement Dirk is radiating from every pore as he chatters endlessly over the video. This is definitely gonna be a fixation for a while.

“I just think it’s so intricate and detailed and it requires so much patience! And I never got to do anything like that in Blackwing, and then I was on the road obviously, so it wasn’t really a priority, but I never realised you could make all these designs? It’s just –” Dirk sighs happily. “I want to try it.”

Todd raises his eyebrows. “I dunno, it takes a lot of patience, Dirk.”

“I can be patient!”

“… Can you, though?”

Dirk makes an offended, scoffing noise. “I can’t believe you’re being so cruel to me!”

Todd laughs, he can’t help it. “I’m just saying, this could end up exactly like when you took up kayaking.”

“That was traumatic, I couldn’t go back after the case with Tim.”

“Or when you tried making tiny houses.”

“The tools aren’t intended for the hands of grown adults.”

“Dirk,” Todd says calmly, before drawing his trump card, “the blue violin.”

Dirk opens his mouth to argue but shuts it, looking somewhat sheepish.

“All right, perhaps you have a point.”

But he looks so glum, sitting like a deflated beach ball beside Todd. Todd looks at him looking disappointed for approximately five seconds before groaning internally and wishing he had the ability to say no to Dirk – but he never does when it comes to unimportant things.

“… I may … have some old nail polish from my punk days …”

Dirk lights up instantly.

“_But_, you have to promise to stop stealing my laptop if you want me to go find them.”

Dirk just smiles beseechingly, and Todd knows he’s already lost the argument. Still – he feels the glow of that smile in his bones.

~

Predictably, the old polish bottles have all turned hard and sad-looking after all these years. Todd never had that many interesting colours anyway. It was all black, navy blue, and occasionally silver to suit his pretentious Mexican Funeral aesthetic. Dirk’s only momentarily disappointed when he realises how boring Todd’s tastes ran.

They head out to find some polishes that afternoon. Dirk drags Todd from store to store, because according to Dirk, there are good nail polishes and bad nail polishes, which is news to Todd. Dirk thoroughly reassures him that Cristine was _very_ clear on that. Apparently you can get peel-off base coats now, so the polish will just pop right off instead of chipping away into sad spots of faded colour. Todd doesn’t really get it – the chipped look was almost required, back in the day. But what does he know?

It’s strange. Dirk doesn’t hesitate to gravitate towards brightest colours, glitter, holographics, two-tone shades that sparkle in the light. It makes something deep inside Todd feel strange and a little frightened at the thought of Dirk wearing those colours, which makes no sense, because Dirk wears bright colors every day. And Todd’s not averse to colors these days either, since coming out of his … well, he guesses it technically qualifies as a very long depressive episode.

It’s only that – it _used_ to be okay, wearing nail polish. Shit, it used to be _cool_ to wear nail polish – even make-up, sometimes – back when Todd was with the Mexican Funeral. It was the height of emo and pop-punk, and although Todd had definitely considered himself too cool for mainstream punk at the time, the vaguely feminine affectations of the genre bled across all the squabbling subgenres too.

Of course, because people suck, it took til 2012 for someone – Laura Jane Grace, _that_ was her name, Todd had almost forgotten – to actually come out. To be publicly no-take-backs, no-haha-just-kidding, real deal transgender. And it’s not like everyone in the scene responded well.

That makes Todd feel panicky too if he thinks about it for too long.

It was like everyone wanted to stick it to the heteropatriarchy, but only in theory, only as long as everyone had some plausible deniability of heterosexuality to fall back on. There’s a lot of angry white men in punk, and Todd should know, right? Maybe he was never straight, but he was never as radical as he pretended to be. He could name every influential punk band of the last twenty years, because he was arrogant enough to believe that he could count himself among them one day, but he never understood all the politics of it. Not with his middle-class upbringing, and his victim complex. And then one day he did get it – but it was far too late, and the poverty he became familiar with was a result of his own selfishness.

That’s why Amanda’s always been way more punk than him. She always understood it better – the attitude, the DIY, the anarchism, the caring for each other. Todd never got that like she did. By the time he began to, the shame was so thick, it smothered everything he used to be, including the parts that could’ve been salvaged – like the music. The music was always the best part of him.

_This is stupid_. Why is he even thinking about this? So he dressed up a bit, back before. So he stopped, when Amanda got sick. It doesn’t matter. He’s not in the punk scene anymore, and _Against Me!_ is one of the biggest bands in it while his band barely made a dent, and that fact keeps playing on a loop in his head while Dirk goes on and on about the benefits of matte top coats, and why is he even thinking about this again?

“I think I’m just going to try a color on each nail first, because there’s so many I can’t choose – do you think Farah would let me try different brands on her?”

Todd makes a noncommittal noise, trying to drown out the weird anxiety that’s sitting in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re right, she’d probably just want plain, _boring_ colors – but I could do that! It’ll be a good challenge, keeping it neat and clean. Todd?”

“What?” Todd comes back to his body with a lurch. He looks around, realising they’re at the bus station. They must have finished shopping.

“Are you all right?”

Todd finally looks at Dirk, who has an expression of open concern on his face. He swallows, trying to find his bearings.

“I’m fine, just – I dunno, the nail polish –” This is stupid. It’s unbelievably stupid. Why is he telling Dirk this?

Right, because he doesn’t lie about shit anymore. And because Dirk’s his best friend and he’d do anything for him. Which he’s totally chill about.

“… It’s … brought up some weird memories? The last time I wore nail polish was with the Mexican Funeral, and before that, it was … Amanda used to use me as a guinea pig for her ‘manicures,’ or. Well, she called them that.”

“Ohh,” Dirk says, in a far too understanding tone. “Well, rest assured, Todd. I’ll be keeping all my newfound inquiries to the nails belonging to myself, Farah, and whoever else is willing!”

“Right, yeah,” Todd says, with a strangled laugh.

He has no idea why the thought that Dirk will do anybody’s nails but his feels … hurtful. But since he doesn’t really have a reason to feel hurt and he may have just lowkey dissociated for the last twenty minutes, it’s probably for the best. Knowing Dirk, he’ll drop the hobby in five minutes anyway.

~

As predictably unpredictable as ever, Dirk does not drop the nail thing.

Dirk takes to nail art with the reckless enthusiasm of a college student who has, living away from home for the first time, just discovered the wild delights of eating carbohydrates all day long.

He begins with himself – learning how to apply different coats, learning that wait times cannot be rushed (after one disastrous incident involving a frazzled cat that’s apparently been living in the walls and does not care for wet nail polish in its fur), learning which colors he likes and which ones he doesn’t. Todd watches it all unfold with quiet disbelief – he hadn’t been joking when he told Dirk he wasn’t sure that Dirk had the patience for this particular hobby.

It doesn’t take long for Farah to give in and let Dirk do her nails. They’re short and practical, and at first Farah barely allows Dirk to do more than a couple of clear coats, or a plain beige or brown. And of course, she always chips them straight away. Farah’s lifestyle is not manicure-friendly.

But the intricacy of the art – the patience required – it must speak to something in Farah’s meticulous nature, because she keeps letting Dirk do it. One day Todd walks in on them both, and Dirk’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, concentrating on the forest-green coat he’s applying, and Farah – she looks so relaxed, so at ease, with her hand in his, that for a second Todd just stands there, overwhelmed with affection for them both.

Dirk keeps watching the Simply Nailogical videos, too. He starts parroting back Cristine’s particular turns of phrase – every time they come upon something interesting in a case, Dirk turns to Todd with a particularly gremlin-ish look on his face, and does a deliberately nasal voice as he asks _whaddya thi-i-ink?_ Todd usually just gives him an unimpressed look in response.

But admittedly, sometimes he’s repressing a smile.

Tina comes up to visit one weekend, Dirk still in the depths of his new hobby. She brings with her several Tupperware containers full of brownies – the regular kind, as she’s gotten really into baking since she gave up weed. _Had to put the brownie skills somewhere_, she’d explained with a shrug, when Farah asked. And then she’d tried to make some joke about being a stoner, nudging Todd with a laugh.

Todd hasn’t told her he never actually tried weed in college. And he never will.

(He has an _image_ to maintain with her.)

Dirk, of course, pounces on the opportunity to force another person to become subject to his nail art obsession, and unfortunately, Tina is delighted. She spends a good twenty minutes losing her mind over the nail designs Dirk’s come up with – all of which are unbelievably sparkly, or ‘holographic,’ as Dirk insists they be called. It isn’t long before Tina’s nails are covered in glitter and bright jewel tones, a different colour for every nail. By the end of the weekend, she’s already insisting that Dirk do her nails for pride next month – she’s coming up so they can all go together.

Even Todd, who feels viscerally uncomfortable in that kind of crowd.

Even Farah, who can’t handle _any_ kind of crowd.

Once Tina’s gone again, Dirk’s back to square one in terms of who he can force to sit still and do nail art with. And as much as Farah evidently enjoys getting her nails done, and as much as Dirk appears to be equally enthusiastic about matching his nails to his jackets – he never actually asks to practice on Todd.

And that’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. Todd’s never actually given Dirk any indication he’d even like to have his nails painted, because he wouldn’t. He thinks.

But on the other hand –

It’s kind of annoying that Dirk doesn’t even consider Todd as a potential nail art candidate. Maybe Todd does bite his nails, and maybe he’s got gross stubby fingers that’ll never measure up to Farah’s beautiful hands, or Dirk’s unapologetically energetic ones, but it would be nice if Dirk at least thought to ask him.

But on the _other_ other hand –

Whenever Todd thinks about what he’d say if Dirk did ask, he starts to feel panicky. The fact of the matter is that – he’s afraid people will see. That they’ll ask. And what would he say? _I like wearing nail polish. It makes me feel_ – no, pretty is a dumb word, fuck that. It makes him feel –

Something new, and fragile, and frightening.

So that feeling’s definitely gonna keep getting smushed into unrecognisable brain-paste until Todd’s ready to deal with it, which, hopefully, will be never.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the _other_ weird, fluttery feeling Todd gets when he thinks about Dirk doing his nails. He knows _exactly_ what that feeling means. But that particular feeling is one he’ll allow himself to both recognise and ignore.

The problem with that feeling is that Dirk is Todd’s best friend. His … asexual best friend, who’s never given any indication he’s ever had romantic feelings for anyone, which means that regardless of sex, romance is off the table too. So Todd has this quiet, hopeless thing, this useless growth on his heart. But he can acknowledge it for what it is, and let it go – let it fade away into what it once was; simple, platonic, unconditional love.

It’ll probably go away _eventually_.

And presumably, so will the weird panicky feeling Todd gets when he thinks about wearing nail polish or other … items that are less than one hundred percent masculinity-approved. He’d probably look dumb in them anyway.

Not like Dirk. Dirk, who wears his heart on his multi-colored sleeve, bare and open for the world to see. Dirk, who despite his – _everything_, somehow manages to be entirely, unapologetically, himself.

Dirk, who is everything Todd is not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, warnings for internalised transphobia/confusion about nonbinarism, etc. It's not too heavy here, mostly just confusion.

Farah is, in a situation Todd could easily have predicted, getting sick of Dirk pestering her to do her nails. Not that she’s ever rude or dismissive to Dirk about it – Farah’s too polite for that, and besides, she’s almost as prone to falling for Dirk’s puppy-dog eyes as Todd is. But she _is_ more inclined to say no when he asks nowadays, with the excuse that she chips her nails far too easily – and in fairness, she really does chip them a lot.

Todd watches the situation developing with a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. The knowledge that he could just _ask_ Dirk, just tell him that he’d be happy to let Dirk paint his nails – that he _wants_ to do it – it sits inside him, growing into a thing far more than itself.

It’s stupid, Todd is stupid, and he’s starting to sound exactly like Farah does when she’s spiralling, which doesn’t bode well for his sanity at all.

Pride coming up is a welcome distraction. Todd hasn’t been to Pride since he was in college, and even then, he’d gone with the express intention of getting laid. Farah’s never been at all – too anxious – and neither has Dirk – too … well, on the run, on a case, and lacking in friends to go with. Tina’s been to more Prides than she can count, though, so she’s coming up to be their guide. Todd’s not quite sure what she’ll be guiding them to, since by her own admission she’s also been incredibly high for most of the Prides she’s attended, but it’s whatever. Privately, he thinks she’s just happy to have some sober friends to go with.

Tina shows up the night before, somehow still full of energy and excitement despite the long bus ride, dragging a suitcase from which several brightly-colored feathers are ominously sticking out along the curb of the bus station. She throws her arms around Farah, who freezes instantly. Dirk awkwardly – yet enthusiastically – pats her on the shoulder in greeting, and Tina pulls back, grinning, turning to Todd.

“Yo, Todd! My man! How’s it hanging?”

Todd shrugs awkwardly. “It’s – hanging.”

Tina laughs like he’s said something actually funny. Todd can’t help but smile back at her – if there’s one thing Tina’s good at, it’s transforming the energy of any room she’s in, any space she occupies, making it easy for everyone around her.

That night, the four of them end up gathered on the wooden floorboards of the agency office, eating Thai from containers which Farah is stressing might not be biodegradable. They could probably go upstairs and sit on the sofas which they’d struggled for four hours to move into the apartment two years ago, but – really, they’re too lazy. And there’s something intimate about gathering on the floor of the office, like they’re a bunch of second-graders at a sleepover.

“Oh!” Dirk gasps suddenly, like he’s had a revelation. Todd freezes with his mouth still full of rice, wondering if they’re about to take on a case unexpectedly.

Alas, no.

“I was going to ask – does anybody want me to do their nails for tomorrow?”

Farah groans. “No, no, no – I love what you do, Dirk, but I – I won’t be able to sleep, they’ll never dry in time.”

“Dude, are you kidding?” Tina stares at Farah. “I’m totally getting my nails done, holy shit! Can you do one of those fancy gradient things? Like a rainbow gradient?”

Dirk positively beams at this pronouncement, preening like some kind of pigeon with ambitions above his station. “Of _course_, Tina, I’d _love_ to do a rainbow gradient on your nails. I’m glad someone around here knows how to have fun.”

Tina raises her eyebrows, stuffing noodles into her mouth haphazardly – she’d insisted on trying to use the chopsticks like Farah. “What about Todd? You didn’t even ask him!”

A brief, yet excruciatingly awkward silence falls. Dirk’s grin has frozen into a mask.

Todd doesn’t let himself use the phrase _I wanna die_ at the smallest inconvenience anymore (it sets off Farah’s OCD. Besides which, it’s also not true these days.) But if he was ever tempted to do it, now would be the time.

“Todd doesn’t like getting his nails done,” Dirk explains, shrugging in a purposefully casual manner.

And then Todd does something to surprise himself.

“Yeah, I do.”

Dirk’s gaze abruptly shifts from the floor to Todd’s face, piercing in its sudden intensity. “You _do_?”

“Yeah? I never said I didn’t,” Todd says stiffly.

“You said nail polish – you said,” Dirk sputters, “_Amanda_ … things.”

“_What_?” Todd might have weird and unexamined feelings about wearing nail polish which are a little too intense for comfort, but that’s nothing to do with Amanda. When the _hell_ had Todd ever said anything about –

Oh, goddamnit. _‘Amanda used to use me as a guinea pig for her manicures.’_

Todd is beginning to see where the confusion may have arisen. He tries valiantly not to flush with embarrassment, but it’s a losing battle. “That’s not – it’s not an Amanda thing. It’s not _a_ thing, like, at all. It’s fine.”

Dirk narrows his eyes in confusion. “Todd, are you _sure_ that you –”

“It’s fine! It’s not a big deal! What – what would be a better excuse to have weird-looking nail polish than Pride, right? It – just, go ahead, it’s not a big deal.”

Judging by the looks that Tina, Farah, and Dirk alike are throwing his way, Todd may not have been convincing on that front.

“Well,” Dirk says, sounding unexpectedly airy, “then I say let’s do it. Rainbow gradient for Tina, and for Todd …?”

“I dunno.” Todd shrugs uncomfortably.

“You could do those galaxy nails you do for me,” Farah suggests, finally breaking in. “They’re … subtle?”

“Farah, we are _not_ doing _subtle_ for Pride.” Dirk sounds disgusted. As if suddenly remembering Todd is still there, he whips his head back around to Todd with a look of terrible anxiety. “Unless, er, Todd wants … subtle?”

Todd looks down at his rice. “No, it’s – Pride is Pride, you can do colors.”

Dirk hums. “Well, you could also do one color per nail, that’s a little simpler.”

“Maybe. Hey, pass the spring rolls?”

And that’s how Todd very _un_-subtly ends that conversation.

~

Dirk spends the rest of the night painting Tina’s nails, the two of them shrieking when Tina manages to smudge four nails at once on the last layer. Todd pretends to be busy while fucking around on his laptop, half-hoping that they’ll both forget he’s there. Then he really _does_ get busy when he realises he should probably take this opportunity to hide his lyrics, given Dirk’s propensity to steal his laptop.

“Todd?”

Todd rises out of the fog of Window 10 files slowly, blinking as he looks up to find Dirk crouched before him, the room strangely quiet.

He glances around, only to discover that Tina and Farah are nowhere to be found. “The others go to bed?”

Dirk nods. He holds up his hands, waggling his fingers in a weak impression of jazz hands. Each nail is covered in a single block color – yellow, purple, white, and black. There is of course, a layer of what Todd has been repeatedly informed is ‘scattered holo’ on top. Dirk’s nails sparkle in the dim light of the lamp from Farah’s desk.

“I know that it’s late, or late by the standards of non-holistic-detectives-and-their-assisfriends, so – normal, boring people – and Tina and Farah have already gone off to bed, although I think Tina said something about ‘never have I ever,’ whatever that means – but I was wondering if you still – if you wanted me to …?”

Todd stares at Dirk for a second, parsing the word vomit. Dirk has a hesitant look on his face, like he’s just waiting to be let down gently. It takes Todd a second to understand what Dirk’s even asking.

When he does –

“Oh. Oh! Uh – I mean, if you still wanna … If you’re not too tired?”

Dirk’s face light up slowly, like he can’t quite believe his luck. “I am _definitely_ not.” He clambers to his feet and springs across the room to get his stuff (“nail station, Todd, it’s a very professional and important use of my time!”), like some kind of ungainly colt in spring.

He returns with a truly alarming array of instruments on a tray, and his ever-growing collection of nail polishes in an old cardboard box. Todd’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor, so Dirk settles in before him.

“Hands out, please.”

Todd obediently holds his hands out in front of him, leaving them awkwardly hovering in the air. Dirk tuts when he sees the state of them.

“Yeah, sorry,” Todd mutters sheepishly. “Mom used to yell at me and Amanda all the time about biting, but … Never really stuck.”

Dirk hums in disapproval. He leans in further to inspect Todd’s hands. “Well, I’ll file them a little around the edges and put some nail oil around the cuticles, and see if that helps. Really, Todd, I don’t know what I expected.”

Todd pulls his hands back in mock offence. “I’m a musician, what do you want?”

“At a minimum? Moisturiser. Your hands look like those of a nineteenth century coal miner.”

Todd’s mouth drops open. “_Wow_.”

Dirk drops his head into his palm with a sunny smile. “But that’s what I’m here for! Never fear, Todd, we’ll fix you up in no time!”

“Remind me why I hang out with you again?”

“My rogueish charm,” Dirk quips, without missing a beat, and Todd laughs. “Now, hold still.”

Todd wouldn’t have dared move anyway – the second Dirk takes his hand, it’s like his whole body goes still, caught somewhere between wonderful, impossible relaxation, and an unbearable, awkward tension.

Dirk’s careful to pay close attention to Todd’s fingers, filing down the torn edges of Todd’s nails with intense concentration. Todd tries and fails to think of something to say while his hands are in Dirk’s. His whole body seems stuck on the fact that Dirk’s fingers are cool and dry, but there’s a paradoxical warmth spreading upwards from where Dirk touches him.

Dirk doesn’t seem to be having the same problem.

“Have you thought about what colors you want? I was thinking maybe bi pride, but then, I didn’t want to assume. But the full rainbow didn’t seem very _you_, you know? I know you wear more colors nowadays, don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly expecting you to revert to your formerly punk-ish ways –”

“_Hey_,” Todd protests. “Punk is forever.”

“– But you’re not quite on mine or Tina’s level just yet, so – thoughts?”

It takes Todd a second to remember what Dirk’s asking. “Oh, uh … I dunno. What colors are you wearing?”

As a point of fact, Todd’s been meaning to ask since he saw them ten minutes ago. He doesn’t recognise the colors as any kind of pride flag.

Dirk pulls his hands back suddenly, searching in the nail kit until he pulls out a tube of what Todd can only assume is the aforementioned nail oil. He doesn’t look at Todd as he begins unscrewing the cap.

“Oh, it’s – er – well, ultimately, each color represents a different aspect of – queer identity, which seemed appropriate for Pride, but also, erm … Oh, damn it, that was a little bit of a fib. Well, no, not _really_, more of a _fib-by-omission_, only I didn’t expect you to ask – you never _usually_ show any interest in – ah –”

Todd feels himself beginning to stare as Dirk continues spiralling into a nervous ramble. He leans forward and puts a hand against Dirk’s calf, trying to reassure him. “Dirk, you don’t have to – if it’s something private, you don’t have to tell me, okay?”

Dirk stares at Todd’s hand for a moment, before picking it up and beginning to apply the nail oil. He doesn’t look up.

“It’s not – private, exactly,” he explains, in a soft voice, like he’s saying something aloud he’s never said before. “It’s just something I haven’t really … had the chance to speak to you all about. As a matter of fact it’s not something I’ve really considered until recently. I didn’t – I didn’t actually realise there was a word for it, you know? It seems like it’s only really taken off in the mainstream in the last few years, and I … Between cases and the Universe and all, I never really had the chance to …”

It dawns on Todd that Dirk’s trying to come out to him.

What _as_, Todd’s not sure. He already knows that Dirk’s ace, so the only other thing to come out about would be –

No, surely not?

“Dirk, are you … um. What … are you?” Todd cringes at himself immediately after saying it, but for whatever reason, it makes Dirk smile – a fragile thing, reflective of the uncertainty underpinning it.

“That’s the thing, actually. I don’t think I really know.”

Todd looks down at their hands, staring at the colors on Dirk’s nails like they’ll explain things.

“So it’s like – a pride flag for people who don’t know what they are?”

“Yes,” Dirk says confidently. Then, his head shoots up in horror. “I mean – no! I mean. _I’m_ not entirely sure what I am, but the flag is – it’s for nonbinary people.” He says the last two words in a rush, like he’s trying to force the words out.

Todd squints. “Okay, I think I’ve heard that word before, but I have no idea what it means,” he admits, feeling lost.

Dirk, having finished with the nail oil, sighs and reaches over for a hand towel to dry Todd’s hands with. Todd tries not to squirm as Dirk presses the cloth between his fingers.

“It’s – well, it’s exactly what it sounds like. A polite yet firm rejection of the binary concept of gender and all that it entails, up to and including stereotypes, physical presentation, and the internal landscape of the individual.”

Todd pauses, digesting. “So it’s – like being trans?” Okay, trans he gets, he had a friend in college who was trans. He’s pretty sure he has a cousin who’s trans. They don’t really talk, but –

“Sort of?” Dirk wrinkles his nose uncertainly. “Some nonbinary people identify as trans, some don’t. I’m not sure exactly sure where I would classify myself on that particular front, I mean – I don’t exactly want to transition physically, but there are certain things … I mean, I wouldn’t say _no_ to presenting a little differently, day to day. I know … I know that people look at me and see a man, and it doesn’t bother me _all_ the time, but there _are_ times when it would be nice if …”

Todd makes a sympathetic noise, even though he’s still wildly out of his depth. “So it’s – sometimes you feel one thing, sometimes another?”

“For me?” Dirk looks up to the ceiling, considering. “Yes? I think? I don’t want to be a woman, exactly, but I don’t … want to be a man either. I just want to be – I want to not make the choice at all. I want to be what I am, day to day, whoever that is, without pretending.”

“Oh,” Todd says, and it comes out sounding so much smaller than he means it to.

There’s silence for a moment, during which Dirk very deliberately busies himself painting a base coat onto Todd’s nails, carefully avoiding Todd’s gaze.

There’s this feeling. Something too fragile and fledgling in nature to put into words. Something that, if Todd speaks it aloud – before it’s ready to be known – could be crushed beneath its own weight.

“Hey, um.” He clears his throat, willing himself to say something. This is Dirk’s moment. His best friend just came out to him and Todd owes it to Dirk to _not make this about him_. “Thanks. For telling me that. Is there – anything you need from me?”

Dirk finally looks up, and the bottom of Todd’s stomach drops out as he realises how close their faces are.

“No,” Dirk says, with a soft smile. “Just – thank you. For listening, and … not laughing.”

Todd swallows past the visceral upset in his throat at the thought that Dirk might have imagined Todd laughing at him about this. “I wouldn’t. Not about this. It’s – kinda cool, you know? It’s, uh … very you. A holistic gender.”

Dirk gasps, nearly spilling base coat all over Todd’s hand. “Oh my god! Todd, you’re a genius!”

“… I am?” Todd has never gotten used to Dirk’s effusive praise.

“_That’s_ my gender! A holistic gender! Holistically gend_ered_, if you will. A gender which explores all the possibilities of the interconnection of genders.” Dirk is practically vibrating with excitement.

Todd laughs. “Okay, well, let me know if they have a pride flag for that.”

“Oh, I am _definitely_ going to come up with one. Mona would like that!” Dirk adds the final coat to Todd’s pinky, letting it go. “There, base coat’s finished!”

Todd’s brain catches on something. “Hang on – is Mona …?”

Dirk screws the cap back onto the nail polish with what Todd might be tempted to call condescension. “Todd, Mona spends most of her time as a clown doll. I don’t think she even knows what a gender _is_.”

“… Huh. Fair point.” Todd starts blowing on his nails, hoping they’ll dry faster if he does, though Dirk immediately makes an irritated noise and grabs Todd’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

When he’s quite sure that Todd’s not going to ruin all his hard work – he doesn’t actually say that, but Todd can read it in his face – Dirk pulls the cardboard box full of his nail polishes closer, looking expectantly at Todd.

“Okay, color time. Have you decided?”

Todd makes a face. He definitely hasn’t. Although –

He looks down at Dirk’s nails, considering.

“I was thinking – maybe you could do the same colors for me? Like, um. As solidarity.”

Something very delicate comes into Dirk’s eyes at that moment. Todd wants to look away, embarrassed – not because of Dirk, but because he’s very worried he might have just revealed a little too much. Dirk sniffles a little, clearing his throat.

“If – if you’d like, obviously, I can definitely do that, it’s just, I wasn’t expecting –” Dirk bites his lip, leaning in with a hopeful expression on his face. “You’re sure?”

Todd can practically feel his heart melting. Being around Dirk always makes him feel like he’s the Grinch, and his heart just keeps growing and growing – painfully and wonderfully, every day that they’re together.

“Yeah, Dirk,” he reassures him, “I’m sure.”

And despite the fact that Todd’s almost certainly going to crease the fuck out of his nails by sleeping on them before they’re entirely set, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Two hours later, lying in his bed, he falls asleep to the memory of Dirk holding his fingers so gently – like he was worthy of all Dirk’s attention, all Dirk’s love. Like Dirk would always touch him that carefully.

~

Pride ends up being what Todd-from-college would probably call a total fucking blast. Even though Todd from college wouldn’t have been caught dead at Pride in Todd-from-right-now’s outfit.

Well, the outfit isn’t _particularly_ over-the-top – basically just jeans and a DIY shirt Amanda had made for Todd a few years back with rainbow letters spelling out ‘_Queer as in fuck you!_’ The feather boa’s a lot though. Tina had wrapped it around his neck as they walked out the door and completely ignored all Todd’s token protests, so he’d left it on.

The yellow kinda matches his ring finger nails, anyway.

They mill around aimlessly for a while, Tina and Dirk making enough conversation to drag both Todd and Farah into having some kind of fun, despite the fact that Farah keeps feeling her pockets for her knives, and Todd keeps feeling his for his medication. Todd catches a glimpse of earplugs in Dirk’s ears and feels a surge of relief – he hadn’t realised he was looking for a spare set until then. Dirk usually forgets to bring them places and ends up clapping his hands over his ears and looking sad when things get noisy. Knowing that Dirk’s taken precautions eases some of Todd’s anxiety, even though he knows, deep down, that the feeling has far more to do with the secret fear that he’ll have an attack in public.

Still, they do eventually end up marching in the parade, the air filled with streaming banners and a dizzying array of flags and colors. Despite everything, the atmosphere is … good. Todd can’t help but feel himself calm down, watching people shout and laugh and dance in the street. It feels a little like Sound of Nothing, only – well, definitely less out of control. But peaceful, yes. Celebratory. _Proud_.

At one point the crowd starts to thicken a little too much for Farah’s liking, so she instates the field trip rule, ordering them all to link hands. Tina links up with Farah a little too quickly for it to be accidental, and then grabs Dirk’s hand as a hasty afterthought. Dirk blinks at the sudden intrusion into his personal space, but upon seeing it’s only Tina, he smiles.

Todd, now marching along awkwardly outside the little group, freezes with uncertainty. He hesitates for a few seconds – long enough for Farah to shoot him a confused look over her shoulder as they continue walking. But then he sees Dirk turn, a quizzical look on his face, and he quickens his steps to catch up, reaching for Dirk’s hand.

As soon as he takes it, it’s like all the pieces fall into place. Like everything makes sense. He’s here, in a parade full of people like him, with his best friends linking him into a chain. He looks up, and the sky is a brilliant shade of blue – covered with a thousand colors high above the heads of the crowd.

And wherever he looks, the same ones stand out – purple, black, white, yellow. Painting his and Dirk’s nails, and flying through the air. Everywhere at once. Just for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE nonbinary Dirk is here!! Big credit should go to my partner for their use of the phrase 'holistically gendered' from the fic [The Butterfly Effect (Love is Love is Love is Love).](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741397/)
> 
> Dirk's relatively early in his nonbinary journey, so he's not yet thought much about pronouns, so it doesn't come up here.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I absolutely thrive on comments!


	3. Chapter 3

After Pride, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Dirk wants to try _everything_ on Todd, all sorts of absurdly overcomplicated shit. Todd can’t even begin to imagine how half of it’s accomplished until Dirk actually does it, and then Todd can only stare at his colorful nails, wondering why _this_ is the thing Dirk’s willing to be patient for. Dirk, for his part, takes great pleasure in making Todd sit down and watch more nail videos. He’s expanded his horizons by now, and has tried a few different channels, but he always comes back to Simply Nailogical. Something about Cristine’s manic energy just vibes with him.

Possibly, also, it has something to do with her addiction to tea. Dirk insists that’s neither here nor there, but he does stutter a bit when Todd sarcastically asks whether he’s expected to emulate Ben and become Dirk’s tea slave. Dirk quickly changes the topic, asking whether Todd would be willing to try out some different peel-off base coats so Dirk can actually keep his designs, and Todd admits that he’s pretty much willing to let Dirk do whatever to him. For some reason that makes the stuttering worse.

Todd’s not sure exactly how to process the fact that having colorful nails – _really_ colorful nails, nails with glitter and gradients and intricate designs of various fruits – makes him feel … good. He keeps catching himself admiring them when he’s in the middle of other things. They make his hands look more delicate and almost – feminine, in a way, despite the fact that that he’s always felt he has stubby, sad-looking fingers and square-ish hands.

At one point he ends up in a department store, staring at a rack of t-shirts, trying to figure out which one would match the widest variety of nail designs. He spots a purple shirt out of the corner of his eye which looks perfect – but when he turns around, he realises it’s a woman’s shirt.

He turns around and leaves the store, heart racing, and doesn’t let himself think about it.

It becomes increasingly clear that there’s absolutely no coherent theme to Dirk’s designs – he’ll change the theme halfway through Todd’s nails, which is oddly reassuring. Todd rationalises that if anyone asks him about his nails, he can just say that he’s letting his best friend experiment on them, which is true. He doesn’t have to admit that he actually _likes_ it – that the splashes of colour, the winking glitter, the very fact of taking time to decorate parts of himself – makes him feel … happy.

The designs still take forever to do, though. There are the gradients, which involve a surprising amount of messiness and horrifying amounts of liquid latex. Though that at least is kinda fun to pick off. There’s also the dotting tool, which Todd can’t help but note looks like some kind of torture instrument. When he mentions this to Dirk, Dirk gives him a dark look and tells him to be grateful that Dirk doesn’t have the time or funds to get into acrylics. Todd wisely doesn’t inquire further.

And then there’s the glitter placement, which is absurdly intricate and requires Dirk to spend _hours_ poking bits of glitter into place on Todd’s nails – a task doubly difficult because Todd’s nails are so short, utterly unsuited for that kind of intricacy. For some reason, though, even that doesn’t seem to bother Dirk.

Todd is careful to side-step the feeling which makes him not mind sitting still for hours with his hand in Dirk’s. He _knows_ what it is, of course, but he’s got this crazy idea that if he doesn’t put a name to it, he’ll never have to face all the painful, messy bits of it. It can stay hidden – even from himself, if he holds back, refuses to take that last step – and grow unnoticed, unfurling into golden light in some secret part of his heart.

One day, Dirk gets a set of nail stamps in the mail, which Todd does know are a thing, thanks to Dirk’s Youtube binges. Todd always figured you had to freehand that stuff, but apparently not. The sheer volume of nail-related tools in their apartment is starting to worry him. Dirk’s got two recyclable shopping bags full now.

The first thing Dirk does upon ripping open the nail stamp package is insist on trying them out on Todd’s poor, short, stubby nails.

“I don’t know why you think I make such a good guinea pig,” Todd comments dryly, as he sits cross-legged on the sofa across from Dirk one afternoon. “They’re never gonna grow out. They’re always gonna be this sad-looking.”

Dirk thwacks Todd’s outstretched hand with an empty nail stamp packet.

Todd yanks his arm back with a yelp. “Jesus! What the hell was that for?”

Dirk narrows his eyes, pulling Todd’s hand back into place like he wasn’t the one to just hit it. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that,” he says primly. “Your nails are just fine.”

Todd ignores the warm glow of satisfaction he feels at the words ‘best friend.’ He’s not gonna let Dirk trick him into loving his own _fingernails_, of all things. There has got to be a limit.

Dirk takes Todd’s ring finger, concentrating on applying a base colour.

“Dirk, it’s not …” Todd trails off, trying to explain. “This isn’t like, a self-hatred thing, or – it’s not – it’s just a statement of fact? I’ve got ugly nails, I’ve made my peace with that. Ugly hands, too,” he adds, unable to resist the impulse. It’s good to remind himself of that when he starts feeling – well, when he starts _feeling_.

Dirk looks up with a horrified expression. The nail polish pools on the end of the brush precariously. “No! Your hands are _perfect_!” A droplet falls onto the back of Todd’s hand, but Dirk ignores it, still frowning at Todd.

The drop of nail polish is a tiny pinprick of freezing chill on Todd’s hand.

Dirk says it like it’s so _easy_. It’s like he can’t even comprehend a world in which Todd is anything less than – than _brilliant_. Which is objectively ridiculous.

Except that Todd knows that’s not true. Dirk’s seen the worst of him – Dirk discovered within a week of knowing him that Todd was a wallowing, self-pitying liar, and yet, he stuck around. Even after the time loop, and even after Blackwing, and Wendimoor. He just _likes_ Todd regardless, every single part of him. No matter how many times Todd rediscovers that fact, it never ceases to feel like a surprise.

And that means that Todd’s has to tone done the self-deprecation. At least when people can hear him.

“I guess you’re right,” Todd sighs, fighting off the urge to smile. “Having perfect hands is a burden, though. You’d better not tell anyone about them.”

Dirk blinks, like he hadn’t expected that. Then a slow smile spreads over his face, a look of utter delight. “What, _no_ instabook pages dedicated to the hands of Todd Brotzman? _No_ facegrams with thousands of adoring followers for the delicate and intricate nail art of a square-nailed holistic assistant? _Not even a youtube channel?_”

Todd wrinkles his nose, trying not to laugh. “I can’t believe you got the last one right and it was the most boring one. Running out of ideas?”

“I resent that implication,” Dirk quips, having finished the base coat. He still has Todd’s hand in his, holding onto it with an oddly delicate touch. “I’ve got a perpetual motion machine inside me that functions solely on the principles of a Rube Goldberg device. I can assure you, Todd, I am absolutely _never_ going to run out of what may appear to be non-sequiturs to the less discerning listener, but which are in fact great insights as to the nature of nail art.” There’s this smile playing around Dirk’s mouth, like he’s trying not to break.

“Oh, of course, it’s holistic creativity, right? Everything’s connected.” Todd nods sagely, playing along. He moves his fingers away from Dirk. “So … if I were to smudge the fuck out of this base coat right now, that would be _totally holistic_ –”

“_Absolutely not_,” Dirk interrupts him, lunging forward to grab Todd’s hand before Todd has the chance to fake-out wiping them on the sofa.

Todd laughs, raising his hand above his head, lying back so that Dirk can’t reach it. Dirk scrambles onto his knees, leaning over Todd and trying to seize his hand. Todd holds it just out of Dirk’s reach, taunting him.

“Todd, if you ruin all my hard work –”

“I thought my nails were perfect?” Todd widens his eyes in mock hurt. “Unbelievable, I really thought I was more than a pair of pretty hands to you –”

Dirk starts giggling, despite the fact that he’s trying very hard to frown at Todd, while still half-heartedly making grabs for Todd’s hand. “Stop it!” He gives in to laughter, and the tension of holding in all that laughter must have been holding him up, because he falls flat on top of Todd, still grasping wildly for Todd’s other hand.

The couch, which was not built for two grown adults to wrestle on, groans menacingly. Todd feels Dirk freeze above him, and he goes still himself, suddenly struck by the situation they’ve found themselves in.

With the way Dirk’s lying on top of him, the way Todd’s got one arm at Dirk’s waist - anyone might think they were cuddling. _Especially_ with the way Dirk’s looking at Todd, his face barely a few inches away, one hand braced against the armrest behind Todd’s head. The other is holding Todd’s wrist in a grip which is far gentler than it needs to be.

The secret, glowing thing, deep in Todd’s heart, bursts into flame.

Dirk’s thumb moves, a slow skimming sensation along the inside of Todd’s wrist.

And for one wild, heart-stopping moment, Todd thinks –

“Hey, guys, I was wondering, about the Fallout Boy case –” Farah cuts herself off when she realises what she’s walked in on.

Todd turns his head so quickly to look at her he nearly pulls a muscle. A hot-and-cold flash of instant, _deep_ embarrassment goes through his body.

Dirk scrambles backwards, letting go of Todd’s arm. Todd sits up quickly, clearing his throat, thoroughly avoiding looking at Dirk. Farah narrows her eyes and purses her lips, looking like she’s trying to decide what to say, or if she should even say anything at all.

“The, er, the case?” Dirk stutters. “You were saying?”

He speaks with the authority of someone who wasn’t just sitting on top of a fellow thirty-something on a sofa about sixty seconds ago, stroking his wrist and – leaning in? No, he wasn’t leaning in, that’s ridiculous.

Jesus, Todd’s starting to sound like a teenager.

Farah pauses, closing her eyes for a second. When she opens them, Todd can already tell she’s decided to file whatever it is that she _thinks_ just happened away for later.

Thank god. That’s a problem for future-Todd.

“Yes,” she says, flatly. “The Fallout Boy case. So, I was reading up on the migration of tropical fish, and between that and the My Chemical Romance reunion …”

Todd tries to listen. He probably _should_ be listening. The fish really have been the spanner in the works of this one – if Farah’s found some kind of link, that’s important.

But despite his best efforts, mostly all Todd can think about is the feeling of his nails drying, and the ghostly imprint of Dirk’s fingers around his wrist.

~

Todd’s always been in the habit of … Well, bad habits. His latest is picking at his nails.

It’s not because he wants to ruin all of Dirk’s hard work. And it’s not even because he occasionally feels a twinge of dark panic when he thinks about other people seeing them – though that’s happening less and less, nowadays. He likes his nails. He likes the detail, the intricate designs – _Dirk’s_ designs, from explosions of glitter and holo to circus-themed tarot decks and capital cities of Europe.

But that’s the thing – _Dirk’s_ the one who does Todd’s nails. And if Todd’s nails are perfectly manicured, Dirk has no reason to do them again. If, on the other hand, Todd’s nails are chipped and fraying at the edges … Well, then Dirk might just take Todd’s hand and cluck disapprovingly, and tell Todd to sit down and wait while Dirk gets his supplies. And Todd can look forward to sitting still for a couple of hours while Dirk flits around the room, chattering endlessly, occasionally making a breakthrough in a case, and paying close attention to making Todd’s hands look – almost beautiful.

All in all it’s not – a _lie_, exactly. Todd can be clumsy, their cases involve a lot of physicality and literal hands-on work. It’s perfectly understandable for Todd to end up with messy nails on a regular basis; chipped, dry, or worn down at the tips. But the whole nail picking thing is definitely contributing significantly to the state of Todd’s nails. And it’s _definitely_ not something he wants anyone to know that he’s doing. It implies things. Like that Todd might enjoy Dirk doing his nails for other reasons.

And the worst part is that there are, quite literally, reasons _plural_ – and he really, really doesn’t want to dwell on them. Those feelings are not neat, and – god willing – those feelings will pass away with time if he just _avoids calling them what they are_.

So he chips away quietly at his nails, just so that Dirk will do them again, and tries not to feel guilty over the habit.

Unfortunately, Todd has never accounted for what to do if somebody catches him in the act.

He really should know better by now than to leave the door to his room open (considering who he lives with), and he should _definitely_ know better by now than to underestimate Farah’s ability to be very stealthy when she wants to be. But he doesn’t, and he may never, and so he definitely screams when he realises that Farah’s standing in his doorway and watching him methodically chip off his nails.

The look on her face is – in a word, exasperated.

Todd shoves his hand underneath his leg.

“Todd,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “if you hate the nail polish that much, just _tell_ Dirk!” She sounds almost hurt on Dirk’s behalf.

Todd sputters. “That’s – I’m not. _It’s_ not … _Farah_!” His voice is doing this horrible squeaking sound, like an old car with shitty breaks.

She glares at him and crosses her arms. “Oh, it’s not? It’s _not_? Were you _not_ just chipping off the nail polish Dirk spent three hours on yesterday?”

“I wasn’t!” Todd cries indignantly. One look from Farah has him shrinking in shame. “I was. Okay, I was, I – but it’s not – I wasn’t doing it because …” Jesus, what is he supposed to say_, I was doing it because I want him to spend three hours doing it again? It makes me feel good when I have them on?_

_It makes me feel beautiful? _

_Fuck no._

Farah stares at him. There’s a glint in her eyes, the kind of look she gets when Dirk’s holistic-ness has gone out the window and they need a more even-headed person to take over the investigation.

“… So. You’re chipping your nail polish off … But it’s not because you don’t want to Dirk to paint them any more …”

Oh, Jesus _shit_.

Farah holds up a finger, thinking. Her eyes track towards the ceiling. “And it’s not a problem of them looking bad, is it? Don’t answer that. So that must mean …” She raises her eyebrows. “The process of applying the polish is more important than what’s being applied.”

Todd gives a weak shrug that turns halfway through into a nod. It’s best to just let Farah go when she has a hunch, even if it’ll end badly for him.

Farah’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh, my god, Todd … Do you – do you have _feelings_ f–”

Todd doesn’t think. He speaks, only able to grasp onto a desperate wish to prevent her from saying anything else.

“Yes, okay, it’s a gender thing or whatever!”

He snaps his mouth shut in horror.

There are a lot of thoughts running through his brain now. Most of them aren’t actually coherent _words_ – they can’t seem to get past the point of screaming in blind terror – but there are definitely a lot of them. He finds himself staring blankly at the floor, trying to make sense of _why he just did that_.

He looks up again to find Farah gaping at him in shock.

“I – I – that –” She sputters for a second, before closing her mouth firmly. She wrinkles up her face in an expression of complete and utter befuddlement, closes her eyes, opens them once more, and comes to sit beside Todd. She remains silent for several seconds, during which, the screaming Todd’s head reduces to a yawning, wide silence where one of his secrets used to be.

Farah clears her throat. Todd sees her turn her head towards him out of the corner of his eye, but he refuses to meet her gaze.

“When you say – when you say a gender thing …” She trails off, evidently as lost as he is.

Todd groans and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says, focusing on keeping his voice steady. “It’s … I don’t know. Complicated. It’s dumb. Honestly, it’s probably not even, like – I mean, what kind of person – and because of the fucking _nail polish_?”

“Well – hang on, go back a step.” Farah sounds perplexed. “Do you feel like … a woman?”

Todd wrinkles his nose. “I – don’t think so? No. No, I don’t feel like a woman.”

“Okay,” she says, and her voice is careful. “So … Do you feel like a man?”

A feeling like frost, crackling over the surface of his lungs, invading every pore, every hiding spot, travels up through him.

_Do you feel like a man?_

That’s a question he’s been avoiding answering for – god, _years_.

_Do I feel like a man?_

_…_ He can’t answer that, he can’t.

_Well then, answer this: Do you feel like a woman?_

No.

_Come on, Todd_, says a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Amanda. _Do you ... feel … like a man?_

… No.

“No,” he says softly. “I’m not a man.”

Farah doesn’t say anything. She moves closer, putting a hand on his arm. They’d sat together like this once, on a motel bed, on the road, exhausted. And then they’d made a really terrible mistake.

_But _this_ isn’t a mistake_, the Amanda-voice whispers. _Not this_. Todd swallows past the lump in his throat, and turns his head into Farah’s shoulder. She wraps her arms around him, and he sneaks an arm around her waist. She squeezes him tight, like she’s trying to tell him that it’s okay. _He’s_ okay. Whatever he is, it’s … okay.

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for telling me, I mean.”

Todd laughs, a little wetly. “I mean, like – I didn’t mean to, I just kinda yelled it. I was just trying to stop you from – uh.”

Farah pulls back, one hand still on his shoulder, and raises her eyebrows. “From … saying you wanted to spend time with Dirk?”

The question in her tone slots right into Todd’s guilt feedback loop – it feels like an electrical overload, and Todd’s a moment away from tripping the breaker and lying to her. Lies upon lies, even after all this time. It’s a hard habit to break. But he will. He _has_.

“From …” He swallows. “From realising I have … uh, feelings. For Dirk.”

The feedback loop crackles, shooting sparks through his ribs, melting the ice, but burning him in the process. It’s terrifying, telling the truth. It always is.

But Farah just smiles. “I kinda suspected,” she admits. “But I didn’t want to be – overbearing, or, or – annoying.”

“You’re not annoying, Farah, come on.” He winces, suddenly struck by what she just said. “Wait, am I – was I that obvious?”

Farah gives him a knowing look. “Not to him.”

“Oh, god, _please_ don’t tell me to –”

Farah pulls back properly. “You have to tell him! _Todd_! Are you serious?”

“Yes! Obviously! He’s –” Todd pauses, lowering his voice. “He’s _asexual_, remember?”

Farah blinks. There’s a look on her face somewhere between ‘completely confused in ways she hadn’t expected to be’ and ‘annoyed at Todd for all the usual reasons.’

“Todd. I don’t … think that means what you think it means? I don’t – I don’t know _where_ you got the idea that – No! Actually. No. I’m – I’m not gonna do this!”

“What?”

“_You’re_ gonna do this,” she says, poking him in the arm. “_You_ are going to talk to Dirk and tell him how you feel, and you’re going to _google_ asexuality!”

Todd wonders if Farah’s lost her mind. “Wh– Farah, I – I just admitted to you that I’m – um, not a – that I might be, sort of … And this is what you’re stuck on?”

Farah shakes her head. “No. You are an adult. And I am an adult. And _Dirk_ is an adult. Just – Todd, just talk to him, okay? Trust me.”

“Farah –”

“_Trust_ me, Todd.”

And there’s something about her voice, something about the spark in her eyes – as determined as she used to get on the road, post-pararibulitis attack, when Todd felt like giving up. Whatever it is – it makes Todd understand how much he does trust her. He _does_.

“Okay. I’ll – talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Farah sighs, sounding relieved.

“Eventually,” Todd adds hastily.

Farah should be annoyed at him for that one – but there’s an understanding look in her eyes, and a small smile on her lips, and it makes Todd think that he might be able to talk about this with Dirk after all.

Maybe – if he can work up the nerve – he can tell Dirk about the … gender stuff, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [breakdances slowly] pls let me know if you enjoyed


	4. Chapter 4

Todd wants to avoid googling asexuality.

Farah told him to google asexuality and implied that he should confess his feelings to Dirk all in the same breath, which can’t possibly bode well. Todd has been working under the impression that he understands what asexuality is, so if there’s been some kind of confusion, well … Fuck knows what happens next.

(But then, he thought he’d understood what being trans was as well, and he clearly hadn’t. The idea of applying that word to himself is still – unthinkable. And all the related words. It’s all right for Dirk to be nonbinary; it’s _Todd_ who isn’t … allowed.)

He’s – scared. He knows he is and knowing doesn’t do a damn thing to help him. He doesn’t know what he’ll find if he googles asexuality. It’ll either confirm what he thought he knew; that Dirk doesn’t do romance, which is fine, even if it’s painful. Or … it’ll suggest that _some_ kind of relationship is in fact a possibility, which is terrifying. Because if, in theory, Todd _could_ have a relationship with Dirk –

Well, then, technically there’s nothing stopping him from doing what Farah wants and just fucking _admitting_ his feelings to Dirk. As long as he can assume that a relationship with Dirk is off the table entirely, he doesn’t have to stop being a coward about the whole thing.

But … that’s just it, isn’t it? Todd doesn’t want to be a coward anymore.

Screw that, Todd _isn’t_ a coward anymore. That’s what Amanda keeps telling him, anyway. That’s what Farah and Dirk keep insisting, too. Todd doesn’t lie to the people he loves anymore, and he doesn’t take the selfish course of action anymore, and he doesn’t –

Okay, maybe he still … if not _hates_, at least isn’t _comfortable_ with himself. Maybe that much is true. He might never be entirely comfortable in his mind, his body. Especially considering the whole thing about gender feelings or whatever. But he’s still brave. Braver now than he ever used to be, and that counts for something.

So he pulls out his laptop late one night when everyone else is asleep, and furtively opens up Google.

Outside there’s a thunderstorm brewing, lightning flashing underneath his blinds every few minutes and briefly lighting up his room. The rain pounds against his window, and he tries not to see it as an omen. It feels like some gothic horror bullshit, the fact that he’s about to crack open Pandora’s box and the weather’s decided to provide some atmosphere. Amanda will freaking love that, if he ever manages to dredge up the will to tell her about it.

Okay, no, he’s gotta focus. And stop squinting at the screen like it’s about to hurt him.

He doesn’t go straight to Wikipedia this time. He ends up on a few different sites – some official-looking, some … not. Apparently there’s lot of blogs are dedicated to the topic. He skims over the articles and posts and memes, and realises, about two minutes in, that he’s been unbelievably stupid.

Asexuality doesn’t mean no romance. Not necessarily, anyway. And apparently there’s different kinds of attraction, too, more than just romance and sex, which is news to Todd. He’d looked at all the options about eighteen years before, shrugged, and begrudgingly decided on bisexual, but now he’s starting to think that might have been kinda hasty. Not to mention the fact that he has no idea where Dirk lies on the whole … scale of attraction thing. Even if Dirk does have platonic feelings for Todd – and Todd’s self esteem isn’t too low to admit _that_, Jesus – that doesn’t mean he looks at Todd and sees … someone beautiful.

It doesn’t end with romance, or types of attraction, though. As if there weren’t enough of a shock to his system – enough that Todd keeps getting these thoughts, like persistent itches at the back of his mind, of holding Dirk’s hand, curling up in bed with him, _stop thinking about it_ – the second biggest surprise of Todd’s research is that apparently asexuality doesn’t even necessarily correlate to a lack of sex.

That thought’s enough to make Todd exit out of the tab, shut his laptop lid, and lie very still, as if he can hide from the thoughts that are creeping up on him.

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it_, he chants at himself, in himself, for himself. _Please don’t think about it._

But it’s hard. Not thinking about things. It makes his mind go places it shouldn’t, places which in theory are totally unconnected to his feelings for Dirk, places which are still raw and tender from Farah’s acknowledgement of them, her gentle concern – the love of a true friend in her dark eyes. He wants to stop prodding at the bruise, but he can’t help it.

_Don’t think about Dirk. Don’t think about his hands, his smile. Don’t think about how alien it is when people call you a man. Don’t think about how it feels like a veil of love when he decorates your hands, like a spell, like a cut chain. Don’t think about how it feels like he can already see you – already love the parts of you that you can’t even admit to knowing._

Or.

_Or_, says a voice, and this time it’s as much Amanda as it is Todd, _do. Do think about him_. _Think about it _all_._

_Imagine, _Todd thinks, his heart beginning to race_, if he did love you – every part of you. If his voice really did hold what you sometimes think you can hear in it. If you went outside and wore the things you wanted to, instead of whatever was safe. If you took the parts of yourself that scare you the most and you began to love them – because he already does_.

The secret places – all the empty spaces inside him where the things he’s scared of used to live – there are _so many_ of them. He feels like honeycomb, hollow, but … not empty. Letting himself acknowledge those places, the secrets, the – okay, yes, the _feelings_ – it makes him feel exactly the way he usually only does when his hand is in Dirk’s, and all Dirk’s attention is on him. Like he’s filled with warm honey, golden light. Like maybe – maybe there’s a chance after all. A chance that he can look at himself and have the world look too, and not flinch. A chance that Dirk will look at him and say – yes. Yes, to _all_ of it.

There’s this warmth – so strong that for half a second, the thought of an attack skims through his mind, before being laughably dismissed – growing beneath his ribs. He lies still in his bed, unseen by the rest of the world, feeling something beautiful. Something beautiful that’s _his_, that came from _him_. Like hope, but stronger. Like pride, but fiercer.

Like love. An unnameable, indefinable thing – and all of it, tied up in himself, in Dirk, in Amanda, in Farah. Every bit of it connected.

Every bit of it ready for him to let it out.

~

Of course, having come to the decision to confess his feelings to Dirk, all Todd’s bravado goes out the window the next time they’re alone together.

It’s been a hell of a day. Scratch that, it’s been a hell of week. They’ve only just solved a case when Todd goes down with a pararibulitis attack – they don’t even have time to celebrate before Todd’s down for the count. Farah finds his meds while Dirk stops Todd from contorting his hands and arms too harshly, which Todd’s grateful for. It eases the post-attack muscle aches. The attack passes. They always do, eventually.

And then they go home, shower, order in, (too exhausted to deal with going out for a celebration dinner), and eat completely silently on the office floor.

It had been Todd’s hands. They’d felt dry all day – a consequence of landing in a vat of flour and digging his way out. It was inevitable that the low-level irritation in the back of his head over the next seven hours would erupt into an attack. Still, this was a particularly nasty one, because it was new. Todd had never before seen the skin of his hands dry out and peel away like paper, and he really didn’t want to experience it again.

Sometime after dinner, while Todd and Dirk are making their way upstairs, (Farah having pled exhaustion about twenty minutes earlier and already gone), Todd makes the mistake of telling Dirk about the attack.

Dirk turns a little green, but quickly puts on a brave face. “Well, we’ll just have to ensure that it never happens again,” he says, in a determined voice.

Before Todd can open his mouth and explain that it isn’t exactly likely to, given the specific set of circumstances that triggered it, Dirk holds up a finger, looking as if he’s had a _thought_, and darts into the bathroom across the hall – only to return seconds later triumphantly brandishing a bottle of hand lotion.

_Uh oh_, Todd’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Here,” Dirk says, “I can moisturise your hands! I would do a hand mask because they’re more fun – it makes you look like a dentist! But we’re out, I’m afraid, so this is all that’s left, and I can do some nail oil for your cuticles too, if you want? I mean, you don’t _have_ to, obviously, it’s just, after the day we’ve had, I think we deserve some pampering, yes?”

“Maybe,” Todd demurs, “Um, but you – you’d be doing all the work. And you know, Farah’s asleep, we shouldn’t ...”

Dirk makes a face, like he’s just about had it up to here with Todd’s bullshit. It’s a look Todd’s familiar with. “We shouldn’t _quietly_ and _sneakily_ perform rituals of self-care in order to lull our bodies back into sleeping states so that we can join her in the land of slumber?”

Todd opens his mouth, then closes it. “That … actually sounds kinda reasonable.”

“I’m always reasonable!”

“If you say so.” Todd shakes his head and tries not to let the fondness show on his face. “Um, do you – my room?”

“Wherever you want,” Dirk says eagerly. Todd tries not to overthink the fact that the look on Dirk’s face makes him feel like there’s static electricity running up his arms (in a nice way, for once.).

They end up on Todd’s bed, facing each other as they lean against the wall. Todd would be lying if he said he wasn’t suddenly nervous to have Dirk so close, in such an … intimate space. It’s nothing they haven’t done before. It’s just that _now_ he’s doing it while fully aware of the fact that if Dirk shows even the slightest amount of interest in him, he’s made a promise to himself – not to mention Farah – to bring up his feelings.

And that’s horrifying.

“So,” Dirk says, before clearing his throat. “Erm, could you – here, you stay where you are, and I’ll just –”

He takes one of Todd’s hands, and crosses his legs to scoot up the bed. It’s normal – a perfectly unremarkable action that Dirk does frequently these days, when he paints Todd’s nails. Nonetheless, Todd feels goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. He tells himself it’s because Dirk’s hands are cold – which, they _are_, so it’s not completely a lie.

The both of them are in their pajamas – Todd resorting to an old t-shirt and flannel pants, of course, but Dirk – Dirk’s pajamas are new, Todd thinks. They’re not the patterned button-ups Dirk usually favours. Well, the pants are. But the shirt – it’s oversized, slips off his shoulder a bit as he reaches for the hand lotion beside the bed. There’s a generic print of a mermaid on Dirk’s shirt, and Todd realises, with a swoop in his stomach, that it’s a woman’s sleep-shirt.

It looks … good on Dirk. _Really_ good. Todd’s-getting-butterflies-in-his-stomach-like-he-hasn’t-in-years kind of good.

There was this show he and Amanda used to watch sometimes, back when she was stuck inside all day, and at one point one of the characters had said that he found women sexier in pajamas than in lingerie because he just wanted to know they were comfortable. It was a funny line. Todd hasn’t thought of it in years. But seeing Dirk like this now – in his comfortable pajamas, in clothing the manufacturer no doubt never intended for him but which rests against his body in a distractingly clingy way, and worst (or best?) of all, in _Todd’s bed_ – it makes Todd feel like the bottom has just dropped out of his stomach.

And to add to all of that – Dirk’s touching him.

Dirk’s hands are incredibly careful. He takes the lotion, rubs it into his palms first so that Todd won’t feel the cold shock of it, and begins massaging it into Todd’s hands with gentle yet firm precision. It’s an incredibly soothing sensation – Todd’s hands feel instantly better for it. Paradoxically, the motions also appear to be setting off a chain reaction of desire and fear, chasing one another up Todd’s spine until he isn’t sure what he feels, only that he needs to say _something_ before he does something incredibly stupid.

“So, you’re asexual, right?”

… Like _that_.

Dirk’s hands still against Todd’s wrist. “Er,” he fumbles. “Yes? Well – yes, pretty much. Erm, is there any … lead-in to this conversation I should be aware of?”

_God, is there_. “No. Sorry – I just … I was doing some … I read this, um, article recently, and I realised … I might have some – misconceptions? About it?”

Dirk pauses. “Such as?”

“Well, when you … first mentioned it … I thought that it meant no, um –” Todd stutters as Dirk passes his fingers over the inside of his wrist. He tries and fails not to think about the couch incident. “No romantic relationships. But … that’s not the case, right?”

“For me, or in general?” Dirk’s tone is casual, but he doesn’t meet Todd’s eyes, pulling his two thumbs along Todd’s palm.

_You_. “Both.”

“In general … In general, _asexual_ does not equal _aromantic_. There’s some crossover, obviously …”

“Yeah, no, I … I got that part.”

“But they are two different things, yes.” Dirk squeezes more lotion out of the bottle and starts on Todd’s other hand, and begins to recite what sounds like as well-practiced a spiel as his holistic detection explanation. “Asexual-spectrum refers to experiencing little to no sexual attraction, aromantic-spectrum refers to experiencing little to no romantic attraction. That’s the general idea, anyway. I suppose it does become quite complicated when you take into account the varying nuances of human experience and the psychologies and physiologies of existing in the world we do, but such is the reality of living.” 

_But what about you?_ Todd wants to burst out. _Please, what does it mean for _you_?_

“In terms of … my own experience …” Dirk hesitates again. He turns Todd’s hand over, beginning to work the lotion into Todd’s palm. “It’s complicated. Again. I mean – well, _obviously_. I think I … I’ve very rarely felt attracted to … anyone? And I’ve definitely never actually wanted to … _do_ … things? I mean, I’ve wanted to do _some_ things, just not the … _thing_ things.”

“The – as in – s-sex?” Todd doesn’t cringe at his stutter, but it’s a close call.

Dirk looks a bit pink. He runs his fingers through the webbing between Todd’s, pushing the lotion into every nook and cranny. No stone left unturned. Todd feels a shock of lightning run through him at the sensation.

Dirk’s fingers slip away. “Yes. Not yet, anyway. In my line of work it’s best never to rule anything out _forever_, but … as yet, no long-repressed desires have made themselves known.”

Todd stares at his hands, softer than petals now, as ever, made beautiful by Dirk’s attentive care. It doesn’t stop them from feeling empty with Dirk’s fingers against them. “And romance?”

“Oh, well,” Dirk laughs nervously. “_That_ was never in question. I had the biggest crush on this boy when I was a kid, back in England, obviously, he – well, I never actually _spoke_ to him, but it was a reassuringly normal experience to look back on from Blackwing, I can tell you that.”

Todd smiles, despite himself. “Yeah? What was his name?” He tries not to feel too eager. A childhood crush isn’t anything. Not if the adult version of that child’s never felt anything since.

Plus, it does suggest that Dirk’s at least into … men. Which Todd isn’t anymore. Or never was?

God, this shit is confusing.

“Craig.”

“_Craig?_” Todd finds himself laughing, and it feels like the tension between them is easing. “That’s not – no. There’s no way you knew a kid named Craig.”

“It’s a perfectly respectable name, I’ll have you know!” Dirk sounds – if not yet outraged, definitely a bit sulky.

“Yeah, for a book store chain franchise owner, maybe.”

“Todd!” Dirk laughs too, now, though he’s clearly trying not to. “You’re being extremely cruel to the boy that ruled the heart of one eight-year-old Dirk, quite frankly!”

Todd just rolls his eyes. “So, what, because of the – fucking, dynamic magnetism of _Craig_, you know you’re not aromantic?”

Dirk’s face abruptly sobers. He looks down. “It’s … there have been other experiences … more, er, mature experiences. As an adult. They’ve definitely … cemented it.”

Todd forces himself to look at Dirk’s face. “Yeah?”

Dirk glances up at him. “Yes.” He looks back down quickly, and seems to clench his hands in his lap for a moment. “Well. All done and dusted! Or – sorry, poor choice of words. All done and … wet.”

Todd smiles. “I’m fine, Dirk.” He flexes his hands, before forcing himself to ball them into the sheets beside him. “Thank you.”

“Do you … need anything else?”

Todd watches Dirk’s face carefully, hesitating, looking for any sign that ... That Dirk might, possibly, want …

Todd could take the opportunity. He could _say actually, yeah, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you._ He could take Dirk’s hand and tell the truth.

He could kiss him.

But … they’re tired. Both of them. They solved a case today, and Todd literally only just discovered the extended version of Dirk’s sexuality … stuff. He’d be stupid not to take the time to process. Not to mention, he still has no idea how Dirk feels about him.

“I’m good,” he says softly. “I’m – better, actually, way better.”

“Good.” Dirk’s voice is – there’s something in it, something reflected in his eyes. Todd holds onto his gaze for a moment, wishing he was braver.

But no. Now’s not the time. Todd doesn’t trust himself enough not to be misinterpreting things. It would be easy, _incredibly_ easy, to mistake the platonic-if-very-attentive care of an openly affectionate friend for something it definitely wasn’t intended to be. Todd’s always seen what he wants to see, and that rarely works out for him.

“We should get to bed,” Dirk whispers, his hushed voice interrupting Todd’s swirling thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m – exhausted,” Todd admits. Something occurs to him, though. It’s not – not _exactly_ pushing things. Not before he’s ready to anyway.

But it’s also not exactly showing restraint.

Todd takes a breath and tries to be brave. “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”

Dirk’s head shoots up from where he’s been rubbing in a stray bit of lotion on his hand. He stares at Todd incredulously for a moment, before something very warm and hopeful enters his expression. “Really? I mean – that is to say – you … would be okay with that?”

Todd shrugs. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea to have someone around after an attack. And y’know, you … you know how to take care of me. And I know how to take care of you, so ...”

“Yes, it all works out rather nicely, doesn’t it?” Dirk has a smile on his face that he can’t seem to hide. It’s blinding – but in a nice way.

“Yeah, well, _we were meant to know each other, Dirk_,” Todd says, in a deliberately silly English accent.

That sets Dirk off completely, groaning at the awfulness of Todd’s accent through his laughter. His laughter is contagious, and Todd starts giggling until they’re both just laughing at everything and nothing.

They’re both a little delirious without sleep, so they end up slipping under the covers between fits of laughter, one of them always managing to set the other off just as they’re starting to calm down again. Eventually, Todd feels his body beginning to slip into sleep, bone-weary and yet – because of the laughter, because of the care – in a way which makes him feel completely at home.

~

Todd wakes up, and Dirk’s still beside him.

That’s almost indescribably nice. Also, Todd’s hard.

He freezes as soon as he realises. Dirk’s calf is only just brushing his own, but still, that seems a little too close to be to someone who doesn’t know you have a boner, at least in Todd’s opinion. He moves his leg away, and Dirk shows no signs of noticing.

Well. Todd had thought that he’d at least have some time to consider Dirk’s asexuality in relation to his decidedly _not_ a-sexuality, but the Universe in its infinite wisdom has apparently decided otherwise.

That’s what this is. It has to be. Sleeping with Dirk, just sleeping, is … fucking fantastic. In the brief moments before waking, when Todd was aware of Dirk beside him, but before he was aware of his own body, there was only stillness and silence and warmth. No question of rightness, it simply was.

But there _is_ a question now, a question insistent upon an answer if Todd’s going to actually … well, if he’s actually going to do _anything_. And the Universe isn’t going to leave him alone until he answers it.

He’s not asexual, and Dirk is. That’s one fact.

Dirk didn’t say ‘never,’ he said ‘not yet,’ but ‘not yet’ does not mean ‘one day.’ That’s another.

Maybe, _maybe_ one day – assuming that Dirk even has romantic feelings for Todd, which is a big fucking assumption in the first place, one that Todd is actively having to force himself to consider in order to be an _adult_ about this – _maybe_ Dirk would consider a sexual relationship with Todd. But maybe he wouldn’t.

And Todd doesn’t want to be a person who can’t live without sex, but sex is … important, probably. He hasn’t had a relationship without sex since he was a teenager, fumbling his way through things with his first girlfriend. And that had been a total fucking mess. Though that was probably more because of all the teenage hormones and lack of brain development. Less so because of the lack of sex.

Todd doesn’t _ever_ want to pressure Dirk into anything, though, obviously. So the question is: can he live without sex? For a long time, until, possibly … forever?

Todd looks over at Dirk, stretched out in his bed, all long limbs and weirdly muscled arms (seriously, how is that possible? Dirk has never been to a gym in all the time Todd’s known him.) There’s kindness etched into every inch of his face. He’s _beautiful_. He’s also, in a very different way, attractive. The times Todd’s been inclined to think ‘hot’ have never quite been when he expected to, but they’ve certainly happened nonetheless.

_Beautiful_, though. That’s the word Todd keeps returning to. Dirk is beautiful. And warm. And surprisingly gentle for someone whose limbs never quite seem to be under his full control. And kind, and also a bit of an asshole, and simultaneously incredibly intelligent and endearingly absent-minded, and –

God, Todd loves him so, _so_ much.

And sex with him would probably be … life-ruiningly good. No matter how awkward or strange or funny it was. Because it would be with _Dirk_.

But that isn’t something Todd wants if Dirk isn’t one hundred percent into every facet of it, so again, it loops back around to the question: can Todd live without sex?

He looks at Dirk.

Dirk opens his eyes.

And it should startle Todd, but it doesn’t. He should move away, but he doesn’t. All he can think is –

_Yes_. Yes, it would be worth it. For mornings waking up beside him – yes, of course, why is this even a question?

“Morning,” Todd whispers, and Dirk squawks, promptly falling out of the bed.

~

After a fair amount of shrieking (Dirk) and several hasty reassurances (Todd), Dirk manages to retreat to his room, red-faced, while Todd forces himself to get up and get dressed, feeling oddly light. It’s like a weight has been – not lifted exactly. More like … little pieces of it are being removed, one by one. It feels like how he felt back when he first told Dirk about lying to Amanda … like the burden wasn’t his alone anymore, like he’d begun the process of deconstruction.

At this point, Farah knows he’s … something, maybe, not quite – a _man_. Even if he’s not ready to put any other word to it just yet. And more importantly, Todd knows – _acknowledges_ – what he’s been feeling for Dirk for so long now. It’s as much himself as the gender fuckery, and twice as electrifying.

That’s a lot to be processing while washing his face first thing in the morning, but whatever. What are bathroom mirrors for if not staring at your dripping face and overthinking what you see?

Todd looks at himself and sees a lot. He blinks, but his reflection doesn’t, obviously, because his eyes are closed in that brief second and he can’t see it. The thought’s almost enough to make him laugh, and he recognises – he _does_ – the fact that he’s acting like a nutjob. He looks at himself again, at his blue bug-eyes. A girl in the third grade told him he had the prettiest eyes. Todd was almost flattered at first, blushing and stammering – and kinda grossed out too, he _was_ nine – but then the girl had laughed, and called him a girl.

He’s never liked people trying to compliment his eyes.

But fuck that. Hell _yeah_, he’s got pretty eyes.

(All right, thinking it outright feels ridiculous and embarrassing. But he’s trying. He has to keep trying. So many promises, and this time he’s trying to keep them honestly.)

He finishes up and exits the bathroom, still fighting off the urge to take back his own positive self-talk. Distraction, luckily, is provided in the form of a conversation between Farah and Dirk down the hall in the kitchen – conversation concerning Todd.

The second Todd catches his own name amongst their words, he pauses in the hallway, uncertain of how to proceed. Mostly likely they’re just talking about – something normal, inconsequential, Dirk’s definitely not confessing his secret love to Farah because that would be ridiculous.

But Todd still hesitates, and their voices float down the hall, clear as crystal.

“You’re about two seconds away from calling him _Be-eyn_ to his face, Dirk.” Farah sounds disapproving, mimicking someone vaguely familiar. Todd’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Ugh, _Farah_. Gross. Ben Simplynailogical is a real human being and the thought of calling Todd by his name is actually making me feel quite upset in the stomach, I hope you know.”

_What?_ What the hell does that mean? Why is Farah acting like Dirk’s gonna call Todd _Ben_? From the … _nail art channel_, of all things?

“Okay, first off, his last name is not the name of his girlfriend’s channel, you know this, Dirk, you – wait, please tell me you know this?”

“Oh, Farah. So behind on the internet times.” Dirk sounds insufferably smug, so, completely normal for Dirk.

“… Is this something Lydia told you to do?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You have no proof.” Dirk squeaks slightly, undermining his supposed confidence, and it makes the corner of Todd’s mouth twitch.

“_And_, second of all, you know for a fact that’s not what I’m implying!” Farah sounds testy now, like Dirk’s being deliberately obtuse.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Dirk says quickly. “No idea at all, and if I did, then – you would – well, you would just – be a really quite awful friend!”

There’s a long silence.

“I acknowledge that perhaps I was in the wrong in that particular assumption.”

“Right. Okay. Thank you, Dirk,” Farah’s voice has taken a turn for the annoyed-but-still-amused. “And like I said. You know _exactly_ what I’m implying. The more tea he makes you, the closer you’re gonna get to saying it to his face instead of just to me.”

“I would _not_,” Dirk scoffs. It’s a little excessive. The kind of scoffing he does when he’s telling an especially big lie. “And I don’t know why _you_ think I _would_ compare him to Mr. Simplynailogical.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure. Of course. I mean, it’s not like he keeps letting you experiment with his nails, or bringing you tea, he definitely _doesn’t_ giggle at all your ridiculous ideas …”

Todd doesn’t make Dirk _that_ much tea. And even if he did – what’s the big deal? Why is Dirk acting all shifty about jokingly comparing him to the nail channel girl’s boyfriend? And Todd’s never giggled in his life. Ever.

God, he’s not even convincing himself with that one.

“They’re not – _totally_ ridiculous, _wow_ Farah –”

“… And you’re _not_ giving him complete gooey eyes every time he enters the room! Right?”

Todd abruptly feels his soul leave his body.

_Gooey eyes?_

“That,” Dirk says stiffly, “is actually rather unfair of you, Farah Adrienne Black. I don’t give him _gooey_ eyes.”

“You’re giving him _something_.”

But _what_, Todd thinks, slightly hysterically.

“I’m not speaking to you.”

“Wait, you’re not –”

“Oh, god no, of course I’m not serious. I’d burn the flat down within the hour without you around.” Despite the out of body experience Todd’s currently undergoing, it does warm his heart a little to hear that. “Or maybe Todd would.”

Okay, a little less warm now.

Farah laughs, and Todd takes that as his cue to enter the room and stop loitering like a creepy weirdo in the hallway. Maybe he can kickstart his brain into working again and actually come up with an alternative explanation for the conversation that definitely _sounded_ like Dirk was comparing him to the nail channel girl’s boyfriend, that _doesn’t_ in that scenario make Dirk the nail channel girl. Because that would imply things that Todd isn’t sure how to cope with, and don’t seem likely besides.

Todd greets Farah and Dirk without hinting that he’d overheard a thing, and he likes to think he does a good job of not showing the bubbling mixture of fear and excitement and confusion that’s boiling up inside him. The feeling only gets worse when Farah decides to go off to some kind of specialised martial arts class she apparently signed up for last week – Todd’s learned not to complain about it. She keeps them all safe, who the hell is Todd to tease her about being crazy prepared for every situation?

But of course that means that he’s now alone in the house with Dirk.

There’s a silence when Farah leaves, Dirk concentrating on some game or another on his phone, seemingly unaware that Todd’s staring at him and trying to come to a decision. Dirk’s not wearing a tie today, shirt unbuttoned at the top. He raises an arm to idly scratch his forehead and Todd sees a bracelet on his wrist, a delicate thing of thin gold chain and tiny stars. It makes Todd’s stomach swoop. He wishes he was brave enough to try wearing something like that.

He isn’t, though. Not yet. _It’s okay_, says the Amanda-voice. _It’s okay. It takes time_.

Todd takes a deep breath. Yeah, it fucking does. And he only just admitted to having those kind of feelings to himself like, in the last couple of weeks. Of course it’s still terrifying.

And besides which, he should be focusing on trying to work out the meaning behind Farah and Dirk’s conversation right now. He won’t be able to do that if he’s too busy moping over gender shit.

He could always – try something. Just a little. Just to _see_. He’s been doing a lot of heavy lifting regarding introspection and positive self-talk and all that bullshit, and he figures, may as well give it a go. May as well … allow the theory (which he _isn’t_ naming the ‘Dirk likes comparing me to Ben because he has a crush on me and he idolises the nail girl’ theory) to be tested.

So he puts the kettle on.

He pulls out a mug from the cupboard, Dirk’s favourite – it’s got this stupid picture of a duck on it, which Todd frankly thinks is possessed. But Dirk loves it, so he pulls it out. And a small plate, and two cinnamon cookies for good measure. His heart is pounding. He ignores it.

“Hey,” he says, in a forcefully casual tone. “Dirk. Do you want some tea?”

Dirk perks up immediately, like a sunflower in the daylight. Todd’s heart aches, in a sweet way. God, how did he push that feeling down for so long?

“Ooh, yes please! Do we have any of that gingerbread stuff from Christmas left?”

“Dunno, I’ll check.” Todd walks around the bench to crouch down and rummage through the tea shelf. He hears Dirk sitting up behind him, probably getting ready to steal the cookies before the tea’s ready. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Dirk feigns innocence.

“Trying to eat the cookies before the tea’s ready.”

Todd turns around to see Dirk smiling, chin in hand. Weird. Dirk should be pouting grumpily right about now.

“Wow, Todd. You’re _so_ good at predicting things. Have I ever mentioned that you would make an excellent holistic detectiving assistant?” He opens his eyes big and wide in an attempt to look sweet and innocent.

Todd shoots him a flat look while walking back around to dump a teabag in the mug. “Nice try. You can wait.”

“Damnit.” And _there_ goes the pout.

Todd tries not to smile fondly at it. The kettle’s finally boiled, so he pours the water slowly into the mug – Dirk had insisted on a fancy-ass kettle with a tiny spout for some reason, something to do with brewing times. Todd had tuned out at that point.

But he still takes care to make the tea just right. Which lends credence to the theory that Dirk’s been comparing Todd to Ben strictly for tea-related reasons and not because – of the other thing.

Todd had had a plan for testing that theory out at some point, but unfortunately, prompting Dirk with tea has apparently had very little effect on him. That _could_ mean that the theory is bullshit cooked up by Todd’s kinda-desperately-in-love brain, or it could mean that Dirk’s being completely oblivious, which is … not unlikely. Todd needs to push it a bit more.

“I guess I should count myself lucky you can’t make like, a really annoying nasal sound with the _o_ in Todd,” he mumbles, feeling his heart do something weird. It’s like being a teenager again. He’s pretty sure he’s started sweating. He looks down at the mug, swirling in shades of gold and brown, and then up at Dirk, chin still in hand at the table.

“Todd,” Dirk says pleasantly, “I know that we have a well-established non-sequitur-and-bemused-disbelief routine, but I must say that it usually happens the other way around. What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know. Because – like, the nail videos. How she always does the voice?”

Dirk’s expression is frozen in a horribly forced smile. “What?”

“You know! She does the voice,” Todd explains, feeling his cheeks flush red. God, he totally misread this. He _totally_ misread this, and now Dirk thinks he’s lost his goddamn mind. “Like – ‘_Beeeyn_.’ The thing she does?”

Dirk opens his mouth and shuts it. And then opens it again, stuttering. “Are – are you suggesting – I mean, that’s just … Honestly, Todd, I would never, erm, compare the two of … Frankly, I’ve been thinking that _you_ – er, never mind. Anyway, er, thank you for the tea, you – silly. Person.” Dirk’s voice rises and falls the course of half an octave within the space of – well, what was far too meandering to be called a sentence. A flush has steadily risen up his neck and is now lighting his cheeks up like Christmas trees as he carefully avoids meeting Todd’s gaze.

_Holy shit_, Todd thinks faintly.

He was right.

Fact: Dirk has been comparing Todd to the nail girl’s boyfriend. Fact: Dirk’s been comparing himself to the nail girl. Fact: Dirk just became extremely flustered when Todd brought that up to him, albeit in a roundabout way.

And Todd can’t think of a single explanation for all of that outside of – of –

“Hey, um, I just realised I forgot to – do a face thing, I gotta – uh, do that,” Todd says, all in a rush, before sprinting for his room and shutting the door behind him.

He leans against it and takes a breath. Lets it out shakily.

_Dirk loves you_, says a voice, the same voice that demanded he acknowledge the reverse; that Todd loves Dirk. The same voice that told him not to turn away from seeking out those weird-ass gender feelings. The same voice that’s never steered him wrong before.

Still, it’s immediately followed by a rising tide of doubt, an attempt to tamp down on the jerky, stuttering feeling of hope in his chest. Dirk _can’t_ love Todd. He likes Todd. As a friend. Even if he did have – some kind of – thing, for Todd, he couldn’t – it wouldn’t be _love_. Love is a whole other ballpark. Love is an impossible thing for someone like Todd, a crazed imagining born of senseless hope. Love is –

Love _is_ Dirk Gently. The interconnectedness of all things. The invisible, deeply ingrained strings holding the Universe together. Todd’s seen a soul-swapping time machine, a ren-faire nightmare of an alternate universe, and a human being who actively chooses to spend most of her time as a creepy clown doll. God, in the grand scale of his life, is it really _that_ hard to believe that Dirk loves him?

Plus, it’s not like the ‘_Beyn_’ joke is the only clue. Dirk came out to Todd before anyone else about being – what was it – right, _holistically gendered_. He trusted _Todd_ with that. And he never, ever complains about Todd needing to get his nails done every other day. And he takes such good care of Todd’s hands as well – massaging lotion into them after the attack, staying in Todd’s bed, and then there was that moment all those weeks ago on the sofa, right before Farah walked in –

Oh, wow. Todd’s a fucking idiot.

_Dirk loves me_, Todd thinks, testing the words out. Sparks of sunlight go off in his chest. _Dirk loves me. Loves _me. The glowing ball of light inside him threatens to overwhelm, and he huffs out a sudden laugh, releasing only a tiny part of the feeling into the air. _And I’m an idiot_.

How did he not see it before?

_Okay_, says the voice, sounding amused. _So Dirk loves you. Now what?_

And then Todd remembers something terrible. Something that forces the rising light in his chest crashing back down into darkness. Now fucking what, indeed_. _Because there’s one factor which Todd hasn’t actually considered. One massive problem that might change everything. That might make Dirk not want to be with him, even if he _does_ love him.

Todd isn’t a man.

And Dirk definitely likes men. They’ve established that much. Dirk likes men. People of a masculine persuasion. Todd doesn’t really know what he is yet, and he thought he’d have time to consider that – time and space and Farah, and eventually Amanda and Dirk too. But if Dirk … if Dirk is only attracted to men (and Todd has no reason not to believe that,) then where does that leave Todd?

What the _hell_ does he do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter counts are for smart people who know what they're doing, not the likes of me.


	5. Chapter 5

The opportunity for Todd to seize Dirk by his collar and confess his undying love doesn’t exactly drop into his lap. As if Todd’s even capable of that. Especially considering the … gender stuff, which Todd is still studiously calling “gender stuff” in his head, as opposed to any other label, no matter how accurate.

It doesn’t stop Todd thinking about it though – how he’s going to tell Dirk about his feelings, both gender- and romance-related. He thinks about saying, _hey Dirk, that thing you told me? Me too_. He thinks about saying fuck talking altogether, and just kissing Dirk. Act first, ask questions later.

Of course that particular plan would involve thinking _very_ hard about whether it would be worthwhile to pretend he’s never felt like anything other than a man, not to mention that Todd’s not sure Dirk’s the kissing type – although he certainly hopes Dirk is.

All that aside, whenever Todd considers whether it would be worth hiding the truth about himself, _from_ himself, until he can pretend it was never there at all –

He knows he can’t do that. Shark-cat’s out of the bag on that one.

Plus Farah would kill him. And … Todd’s an adult now. Well, okay, he’s been an adult for a while. But now he’s the kind of adult who tries to _act_ like one.

He can admit to himself that knowing Dirk loves him isn’t enough to come out. In a way it makes this whole situation _worse_: knowing that revealing the truth might steal that love away. It wouldn’t be the first time that kind of thing has happened to Todd.

But … Todd would be lying if he said it isn’t kinda nice too, knowing that what he feels for Dirk is, at least to some degree, returned. It’s exciting. Todd watches Dirk all the time now, thinking, _he loves me, he loves me,_ the words meandering about his head until he can’t think anything else.

These days Dirk will smile at Todd the way he always has, and Todd has to fight the urge to pick up his guitar and put down the sudden influx of melodies demanding to be known. He’s never had all that much confidence in his music, but now it’s pretty much the only outlet he has for the knowledge that Dirk Gently, against all odds, loves him.

It actually makes him giddy, sometimes literally. Trying to explain why he tripped over his own feet when Dirk casually referenced his ‘unfairly sharp jawline’ in the middle of a long-winded sentence ostensibly about an old case – that had been a difficult one. Dirk had given him a long, searching look, and for a moment Todd had thought he was caught – but no. Dirk had only opened his mouth and asked whether Todd had ever had to melt a candelabra with only a single matchstick and some twine. Non-sequiturs and bemused disbelief. That’s their routine.

There’s the other stuff Todd thinks about only when he’s alone. Late at night, with an incognito tab open on his laptop, and a sick-feeling in his stomach.

… The gender stuff.

There are words for what he feels, he knows that now. They sit in his mind like so many land mines, unexpectedly taking him out in the middle of the day whenever he remembers them. Sometimes they make him feel so light, like the air itself is taking him in, lifting the soul that’s inside him out of his body. Sometimes they feel so good they hurt, and it’s like he’s sinking, slowly being crushed beneath the weight of his own fear.

But without those words, those names that demand acknowledgement … Todd doesn’t know where he’d be. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if the words leave him. He could force himself to smash those words into pieces, grind them into dust and pretend they never existed. It would take would be the strength of his love for Dirk, but he could do it. For Dirk, he would.

And it would hurt.

Because he doesn’t _just_ think about what’s to come, that’s the thing. He spends each night remembering. For someone who’s spent the majority of the past decade trying _not_ to remember things, it’s not surprising to find that it’s a difficult endeavour. But he persists, looking for – he’s not sure what. Proof. Certainty.

It’s a fool’s errand, maybe. But there are bits and pieces, things he mulls over, unable to sleep, unwilling to think about the undoubtably miserable future awaiting him. Amanda and him, aged thirteen and three, playing dress-up. He played the princess, she played the dragon. He’d always play the princess role at its most damsel-in-distress, to Amanda’s delight – she loved to terrorise him, chasing him around the house, shouting her dragon-roars. He told his friends, when they found out about it, that he only did it because she made him do it.

He told his _parents_ it was because she made him do it. That had made them so fucking happy. Always telling him what a good big brother he was. But ‘big brother’ was a title with a lot of associations, and it had surprisingly little in common with the title ‘big sister.’ That always used to annoy him. Felt like a lot of responsibility, a burden he didn’t ask for.

And look where that had led him.

But … he’s starting to realise now that there was another reason he hated everyone telling him what a good brother he was.

Later memories are resurfacing too. When he was a teenager, everything was … awful. Puberty sucker-punched him with seasonal depression and a shitty attitude, not to mention a rat-like ‘stache he still cringes when he looks back on. People used to sort of – _reassure_ him, that he’d get taller, broader, stronger. That he’d be a man some day. He remembers how condescending that felt. He’d never cared how tall he was. He kinda liked being on the short side.

He remembers thinking that he didn’t _get_ it, the whole fucking … deal. He used to hate locker room talk, the way other boys got so hyped up and aggressive, spitting masculinity everywhere and making Todd realise how much of that he lacked.

Especially because, by that time, he knew he wasn’t straight. It’d become crystal clear that he liked boys as much as girls, and knowing that really didn’t help him feel any less screwed over in the masculinity department.

But still. Still. In hindsight, that doesn’t explain everything the way he’d previously thought it did.

Has it always been there? He doesn’t know. He can’t answer that question. Until recently he’s never dared ask at all. He might never know.

In acknowledgement of that fact, he ends up back where he always does. In music.

He begins listening to musicians he’s never head of in genres his teenage self wouldn’t have been caught dead listening to, country included. Turns out there’s a lot of artists singing things he hadn’t wanted to hear, things that he’s been burying for years. Of course, there’s a lot of punk too – and it feels like coming home a little bit, hearing a hurt person shout-sing their rage to the sound of drums and electric guitar. There’s this one line in particular that keeps going around in his head, ‘_you are fighting between a rock and why bother.’_ Because that’s what it feels like. _A rock_: the inevitable fact of knowing what he is. Can’t un-close that door. And _why bother_: but if it means losing Dirk, can’t he try, just a little bit harder, to jam the door shut?

‘_What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything, anything?_’

… Which is self-explanatory.

It’s all so much crap spinning around in Todd’s head, and he might have overestimated his own ability to hide his own turmoil from the people around him, because Farah keeps giving him a look like she’s about to headlock him like she did during the toffee chicken case.

So he beats her to the punch.

“I think I need your help,” is what he opens with.

Farah’s head shoots up in alarm. She’s sitting on the sofa, sharpening one of her knives, and the scraping sound of it cuts off abruptly. “Oh, shit – I’ll get your medication, hold tight –”

“No!” Todd steps through the doorway, raising his hands in a flustered attempt to placate her. Maybe he should have eased Farah into this conversation. “It’s not pararibulitis, it – I’m fine. I need like, emotions help.”

Farah takes a second to process what he just said. Finally, she slumps back down onto the couch, looking confused. “Don’t know why you came to me, then,” she says – or rather mumbles.

“Don’t say that. You’re good at …” Todd pauses, thinking about how to phrase it. “Uh, _other_ people’s emotions?”

Farah shoots him a quick smile in response to his lukewarm defence, but it’s a weak one. Fair.

Todd walks over to the couch and picks a knife up off the coffee table. “What’s this one?”

“A butterfly. Pass it over.”

Todd dutifully hands over the knife, careful to avoid touching the blade. Farah’s knife collection isn’t to be messed with.

“Okay, lay it on me,” Farah says, when Todd fails to be any more forthcoming.

He looks down at his hands. There’s still color on his nails, though it’s becoming chipped, since Todd keeps brushing Dirk off whenever he offers to fix them.

Todd keeps having to pretend he can’t see that it’s hurting Dirk’s feelings.

“I don’t think … I know how I feel,” Todd says softly. “Like, at all. It’s fucking – a mixed bag is what it is. And there’s shit I wanna talk about but it’s the same shit that I don’t ever want anyone to know about.”

Farah’s quiet for a long moment. “Okay, well, I – I think I know how that feels. But – about other things, obviously.”

“Right, no, yeah, that’s … yeah.”

“Like – like everything you’re ashamed of is just … heavier than everything else,” Farah continues, quietly polishing the knife. “Or … I guess it’s more like the shame drowns out everything else, even the things that feel good.”

Todd doesn’t respond. There’s a lump in his throat.

Farah’s voice is soft as she continues, almost a whisper. Todd knows it’s hard for her to talk about this stuff too, even though her stuff is, obviously, pretty different. “And then the only way to get rid of it is to admit to it. But that hurts. A lot.” She places the knife neatly in its spot along the row of knives on the dining table. “Unless you get a magic peace spell cast on you at a musical festival, and then you just tell everyone.”

Todd lets out an unexpected laugh at that, and Farah almost smiles, still casting a critical eye over the knives, too embarrassed to look at Todd directly. She picks up another knife and busies herself with it.

“You’re … you’re right,” Todd groans. “I know you’re right, I have to just … say it. But it’s …”

“Yeah,” Farah sighs.

Todd stays silent for a long moment. _Come on_, he thinks. _You don’t lie anymore_.

“I’m … gonna say it. I am. But it’s – dumb, okay? I know you’re gonna tell me it’s dumb, but I don’t know which way it’s gonna be dumb in, so please just – tell me how it’s dumb. Okay?”

Farah looks up from her knife and narrows her eyes at him. “Todd …”

“Seriously,” Todd adds hurriedly, “I know that it’s dumb but I don’t know _how_, because if it _wasn’t_ dumb I wouldn’t need help with it. So – please?”

Farah puts her knife down deliberately on the coffee table. “Okay,” she sighs, “hit me.”

“So – Dirk’s gay, right?”

“I … guess? I mean I assume so, he’s never really used any specific … descriptors?”

“And I think he might ... I’m … fairly sure that – he might have feelings for me.”

Farah raises her eyebrows, opening her mouth in surprise for a second. “I really thought I was gonna have to fight harder for that particular realisation.”

Todd resists the urge to roll his eyes and point out the old adage of the pot and the kettle and a certain sheriff’s deputy from Bergsberg. “Yeah, okay, whatever. But he doesn’t know about … you know.”

Farah pauses. “I … no. Clarify?”

“The …” Todd forces the words out. “Gender. Feelings. Stuff.”

Farah stares at him for uncomfortably long time.

Todd is beginning to wonder if this is one of his anxiety nightmares.

“What,” is her flat response.

“You know! Don’t – don’t make me –” _Don’t make me say it_.

But Farah just keeps staring at him in unimpressed silence. Finally she sighs. “Todd, I … I don’t know if it’s my place to – but if he told _me_, I mean … and he hasn’t exactly been _subtle_, considering all the jewellery and the new clothes …”

“No, that’s not – I know _Dirk’s_ nonbinary, _that’s_ not the issue,” Todd scoffs. “It’s not even relevant.”

Farah’s expression morphs into something that can only be described as dangerously incredulous.

“_Not …. relevant?_”

“No! Why would – we’re not talking about Dirk’s gender, we’re talking about –” Todd lowers his voice – “… _my_ … gender.”

“How – ohh, Todd. You are completely and utterly wrong about me.”

“About what?” Todd’s bafflement keeps finding new depths.

“I’m not good at other people’s emotions,” Farah says calmly, “I’m not even good at yours, and you’re my best friend. Oh no. You’re just too _stupid_ to deal with them!”

“_Farah!_”

Farah holds up an accusatory finger, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No, no, no,” she mumbles. “No. This is ridiculous. _You_ are ridiculous.”

Todd sputters helplessly, but Farah doesn’t even bother opening her eyes, simply holding her finger in the air with graceful exasperation.

“Todd. Has it never occurred to you that since Dirk’s nonbinary … he might actually _like_ it if you were as well?”

Todd flushes. It’s the first time someone’s ever applied that word to him. “N- yes, but – we’re talking about like, a … relationship, here. A – possibly … like, a romantic one. Not … solidarity among friends.”

Farah opens her eyes, but her mouth is still pinched in unhappiness. She shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. “Todd …”

“Just because _he’s_ nonbinary doesn’t mean he _likes_ nonbinary people!” Todd blanches, realising what he just said. “Or – or, you know, otherwise … gender-confused people. All the evidence points towards him liking men.”

Farah throws her hands up, still holding the knife, which Todd dodges pointedly – not that Farah seems to notice. “No! No, actually! Actually, all evidence points towards him liking _one_ person whom he currently _thinks_ is a man.”

“Exactly!” Todd cries. “_Because_ he thinks I’m a man! And if I’m not – if I’m not what he thinks I am …”

There’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there before. Todd swallows past it, trying to regain his voice, trying to make sure it won’t crack if he keeps talking.

“Todd,” Farah says, and her voice is soft again, careful and slow. She puts the knife down. “Todd, I … Look, I can’t be the one who convinces you of this – I think there’s probably only one person who’s gonna be able to do that – but for it’s worth, I don’t believe for a second that Dirk’s gonna be put off by you being … um, your gender stuff.”

“Nice save,” Todd says, gloomily.

“Todd.”

“Okay! Okay. I mean … That’s great, but …”

But he doesn’t want to what he knows he has to. He doesn’t want to tell Dirk.

“But nothing. He’d want to know. About _both_ things.”

Todd runs a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

Farah gently nudges his arm. He looks up to see her giving him a pointed look.

“So what are you waiting for?”

­~

Honestly, Todd doesn’t know.

He just can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to have to put some thought into it. Usually, he doesn’t mind thinking about how he’s gonna do things. Having a vague plan in mind generally helps him get through life, especially since Dirk came into it – and he’s gotten good at coming up with plans that are vague enough to work for Dirk, but detailed enough to ease Todd’s anxiety.

Two days after his talk with Farah, he thinks he’s got something. At least, he’s got an idea. A way to … to show Dirk how much he means to Todd. Actually, the more Todd thinks about it, the better the plan seems. He just needs to find an opportunity to put it into place, which Todd assumes will take a while, because his luck generally doesn’t run so smoothly.

The Universe, as per usual, is having a laugh at his expense, because the second he decides what to do, Farah walks out the front door, Dirk plops himself down on the sofa, whips out his nail kit, and Todd thinks, _oh, you son of a bitch_, at nothing in particular.

He’d actually been kinda looking forward to the wait. More time to consider what to do.

Okay. Okay. Time to – not man up, time to … _Be brave_, says a voice – a kinder voice than Todd’s used to. _Ugh_, Todd thinks in response.

But he doesn’t really have a choice. So he pours himself a glass of water because it feels like the right thing to do, takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, and sits down on the sofa next to Dirk, trying not to think about how it felt when Dirk was leaning over him on that very sofa, months ago. He absent-mindedly runs his fingers over the inside of his wrist, trying to chase the feeling away, but it doesn’t help.

Dirk glances up at Todd with a smile, but his face quickly falls. “_Um_. Where’s mine?”

Todd blinks. “What?”

“Nail art is thirsty work, Todd,” Dirk says, still looking hurt. He gives a pointed look towards the glass of water in Todd’s hand.

“Oh – oh. You, uh, want a glass of water?” Things have gotten off to a weird start, but Todd can deal. He’s still got his plan.

“No, no …” Dirk stands up with a dramatic sigh.

Okay, now Todd’s getting concerned.

“I’ll do it _myself_.” Dirk’s body language broadcasts melodramatic disappointment, and Todd resists the urge to pause his whole confession right then and there out of spite.

Instead, he stands up and follows Dirk to the kitchen. A deep breath and a count to ten don’t go amiss either.

In the kitchen, Dirk seems to have forgotten all about his glass of water, because he hops up onto the bench and begins attending to his nails again. He glares at the kettle as if he can will it to life, so Todd rolls his eyes and turns the thing on himself. He turns back around to see Dirk beaming at him.

“Thank you!” Dirk’s voice has returned to a state of chirpy enthusiasm.

“You’re welcome.” Todd says flatly. One interruption down. Hopefully there won’t be any more.

_Time to put the plan into action, Brotzman_.

Todd steps closer, and reaches out a hand. “Let me?”

“Oh!” Dirk looks pleasantly surprised. “Do you want a new design? Thank goodness, I was really starting to worry that you’d lost interest all together, and you know Farah never lets me try anything interesting –”

“Um, actually,” Todd says, cutting off Dirk’s tangent, “I was thinking – I could … do your nails? If you want?”

Dirk stares at Todd for just a beat too long. There’s a look of – Todd’s not sure how to describe it; something like half-hope, half-doubt in Dirk’s eyes. It’s startling, no matter how many times Todd thinks of it, to remember that what Todd feels for Dirk isn’t actually unrequited.

In moments like these, it’s almost undeniable. How had Todd missed it for so long?

_Focus_, says the kind voice.

“Dirk?”

Dirk blinks. “I … ah. Ha. I didn’t realise you had an interest in … nail art. You never seemed curious about that sort of thing, so much as, er, tolerant.”

“I was,” Todd says, wondering what conversation they’re really having here. There’s at least three topics they could be talking about right now, only one of which actually involves nail polish. “I mean, I am. Interested! Not just, you know, tolerant. I-if you’re okay with that. I won’t be as good at it as you.”

“That’s fine,” Dirk says quickly. “I don’t mind. Really.”

There’s an awkward pause for a moment, as both of them process how exactly to go about things.

“How about I –”

“We could always –”

Todd falls silent, trying desperately to believe he hasn’t already completely screwed this whole thing up.

Dirk makes an odd, aborted movement with his mouth, before looking down at his hands, laying open in his lap. “I was going to say – erm, you could get nail kit and we could just … do it here? While we’re waiting for the tea to brew.”

Actually, that’s what Todd was about to suggest. Maybe the plan _can_ go ahead.

“Y-yeah, cool,” he stutters out, before cringing at himself.

That confidence was fun while it lasted.

He leaves to get the nail kit and returns to find that Dirk’s already poured the tea. He’s sitting back up on the bench, legs dangling in a way that Todd can’t help but find endearing. He looks up as Todd enters, an oddly hesitant smile on his face.

Todd does his best to smile reassuringly back at him. “Good to go?”

“Yes!” Dirk holds out his hands expectantly.

Todd sets the nail kit beside Dirk, but only takes one of his hands, pushing the other gently down to Dirk’s leg. Dirk drops that hand a little too suddenly, and it falls onto the bench, catching his thumb at a weird angle.

“Ow!”

“You okay?” Todd steps closer, nearly standing between Dirk’s legs in his panic to see Dirk’s hand.

“Yes! Fine. Obviously. I’m absolutely hunky-dory!” Dirk’s voice is clipped, harried – like he can’t think straight.

The reason becomes clear when Todd looks up at his face, only to find it inches away. Dirk’s eyes are wide – and there’s a very faint pinkness to his cheeks.

_You’re doing that to him_, Todd’s kind voice supplies helpfully.

_Yeah, but it’s not gonna last_, says another voice, harshly.

_Shut up_, Todd thinks, at both of them.

“Okay,” Todd says. He looks down at Dirk’s nails and notices for the first time that they’re bare. “How long’s it been since you did them?”

“Not long,” Dirk says, flexing his fingers. Todd hears a faint jingling noise and notices the bracelet from days earlier poking out of Dirk’s sleeve. It’s still as beautiful against his wrist as it been the first time Todd saw it. It made Todd’s heart ache, the first time – he couldn’t help but think of how much he wished he was confident enough to try something like that. Now, it just makes him think of Dirk. How happy Dirk seems whenever he tries something that proclaims, however proudly _or_ quietly to the world, that he’s not a man nor a woman – and he’s happy to be himself, instead.

Todd realises with a start that Dirk’s still talking.

“… and unfortunately I did pick at them. I’ve actually done most of the cleaning up already, apart from the staining. I just need to use the nail oil and … oh, that’s it, actually.” He sounds oddly disappointed.

_Because he won’t be able to have his hand in yours as long_, the kind voice says, sounding giddy. “That’s okay,” Todd replies quickly, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in his stomach. “I can paint them too, if you want.”

“Really?”

Todd nods, biting back a smile. “Sure. But you have to hold still, Dirk.”

Dirk takes on what Todd calls his _Serious Face_ with a smattering of condescension. “_Todd_. I am the _master_ of sitting still.”

Todd rolls his eyes and starts with the nail oil, as promised. He hasn’t done this as often as Dirk, so the oil spills over Dirk’s cuticles and down his pointer finger. Todd swipes up the excess with his hand, wiping it off on a nearby towel. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dirk replies, in a soft voice.

Todd dares to glance up. Dirk’s looking right at him, head on – but there’s no challenge in his eyes, no daring. Only a quiet hope.

_Please don’t let me break his heart_, Todd thinks, before the realisation of that sinks in – that he has the power to break Dirk’s heart at all.

“Dirk,” Todd says quietly, trying to breathe, “There’s – something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Dirk’s finger twitches. “Oh?” His voice is high and unsteady.

“So –” Todd’s throat catches and he clears it, trying to put his thoughts in order. “Okay, well, it’s – two things, actually. About my – about how I …”

_Just _say_ it, Brotzman_. His hands are shaking against Dirk’s, and he can’t bring himself to look Dirk in the eye.

“You can tell me,” Dirk interrupts. “Absolutely anything, Todd, honestly, I won’t mind.”

“No, I know that –”

“I mean, I would _think_ after all this time you’d know that, but –”

“– it’s just, a complicated situation is all, and –”

“– I know that sometimes you can feel a little insecure in your relationships. Nevertheless, as many times as it takes, I will _always_ be happy to reassure you that –”

“I’m in love with you.”

“– you _are_ my best friend, not inclu– what?”

Todd finally looks up.

Dirk’s mouth hangs open, and Todd can’t read the look on his face as anything other than outright shock.

And – oh, shit. He was supposed to tell Dirk about the gender stuff _first_.

“I didn’t mean that,” Todd blurts out.

Dirk’s face transforms in an instant, stunned bewilderment replaced with hurt confusion.

Todd scrambles to get himself back on track. “I mean – I didn’t mean to _say_ that. Yet! I didn’t mean to say that … _yet_. I had – there was – can I try that again?”

Dirk nods, but doesn’t say a word, apparently dumbstruck. Todd’s known him to be lost for words on approximately three occasions over the years, and all of those situations involved trauma, so this … does not bode well.

“I, um. What I meant to say before … _that_, was that I … Lately, I’ve been thinking that I might be …” Todd grits his teeth in a desperate attempt to force the words out. He holds onto Dirk’s hand, trying to find a lifeline, but all he can see is the lost expression on Dirk’s face.

“I can’t …” Todd’s voice cracks. “I even say it. Jesus.”

The shame is back. It’s heavy enough to swallow him whole.

He looks down at Dirk’s hands again. A glint of light catches his eye – the gold bracelet. He takes another breath, and forces himself to look – _really_ look – into Dirk’s eyes.

They hold only gentle concern, and perhaps a little bit of the stunned look from before – but nothing more. The weight eases as Todd takes in in Dirk’s expression, telling himself, _this is Dirk, this is your best friend._

He opens his mouth.

“I think I’m nonbinary.”

It’s a long, long second, the one that follows that pronouncement.

But it’s in that second that he feels – suddenly, impossibly _light_. Both in the sense of a sudden wave of dizzying freedom washing over his body, and in the sense that something which he maybe always knew but never had the words for has finally been told – released into the world under his _own_ terms, in his _own_ time. It’s not like with Farah, where the admittance of it made him feel off-kilter and unsure. It’s the truth – more importantly, it’s _his_ truth, and wherever it takes him, he knows now he won’t be without it.

Of course, time is still passing while all of that washes over Todd’s bruised and battered psyche. A feeling like a flock of frightened birds taking flight rushes through his stomach when he remembers that he does also need to deal with the fact that it’s _Dirk_ he just told.

Dirk’s expression hasn’t changed. Still that mild concern, and just a little bit of shock. But as the words sink in – as he absorbs what Todd just told him – it morphs, slowly, into … of all things, a smile.

“You …” Dirk sounds delicate, like he’s discovered something wonderful – too wonderful to be real. “You’re – like me?”

Todd holds Dirk’s hand a little tighter. “Not exactly. Or – I don’t know yet. I just … I know I’m not a man. I’m not a woman either. I … I’ve been thinking about it a lot but I still don’t …” _I don’t know much more than you._ “Like, nothing’s certain, I guess?”

“But,” Dirk says, carefully, like he’s trying to make sense of something, “you _are_, in fact, nonbinary?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I … I’m pretty sure I am.” Todd, to his great surprise, finds himself _smiling_ as he says it. What the hell is happening to him?

“And you also – that is to say – you … you said, er, something else. Before.”

Todd remembers. His smile fades. “… Yeah. I meant to say that part _after_ I told you about …”

“Right. Yes, that would … make sense.” Dirk appears to be waiting for something.

“I … I know that might – change things.”

Dirk blinks, as if whatever he was waiting for, it wasn’t that. “It will?”

“Well – yeah, I mean. I know … I know you only tend to like – guys, so …”

Dirk’s face does something Todd has no idea how to interpret. He takes a breath as if to speak, but then stops. Then he narrows his eyes and looks around the room as if searching for an answer he can’t find.

And then, Dirk laughs. It’s not exactly a happy sound – it’s more like the sound of someone who’s so completely bemused they don’t know what else to do.

“Oh,” Dirk says, finally, “_wow_. I know I’ve been accused, on more than one occasion, even by _you_, of being oblivious to all but that which the Universe intends me to know, but _really_, Todd.”

“What?” Todd’s losing his footing in this conversation.

“_Todd_. I _honestly_ thought you knew.”

Todd scrambles to think of what Dirk could be referring to. “Knew – what, that you’re asexual? Because – I did my research! You can be gay and asexual! And you _said_ – there was Craig! You said you feel, like, romantic things.”

Dirk looks like he wants to throw his hands in the air in exasperation, but as Todd’s still holding them, he doesn’t. “Yes! Exactly! I do! Right now, in fact!”

“You – what?”

“I _feel_ – I’m the same. _Exactly_ the same, Todd, I … I’m in love with you too, you ridiculous thing.”

Todd stares at Dirk for a second, trying to make the words that just came out of Dirk’s mouth make sense.

“What?”

Dirk makes an exasperated noise. “If you keep saying that, you’re going to forget how to say anything else and _then_ where will we be?”

Todd blinks very rapidly. “No, I mean – but I’m _nonbinary_. I mean, I know that, like, you have – _had_ – feelings for me, or I, I thought you did, but … Don’t you … I thought you liked … men?”

Dirk shakes his head slowly. “_No_. I mean – yes, sometimes. And I have been known to call myself gay but … It’s not that simple, especially since I … came out about being nonbinary myself. Todd, I … I like _you_. You just said you knew I had feelings for you! Actually, hang on, how _did_ you – _no_! No getting sidetracked. Not today.” Dirk’s Serious Face is back. “I like you. Present tense. I – as a matter of fact – may even, er, love you.”

“You …” Todd forgets how to say actual words as his brain struggles to make what Dirk’s saying stick. “You love …”

“Yes. Yes! _Obviously!_” The grin on Dirk’s face would be genuinely disconcerting if Todd didn’t know what was causing it – didn’t know that Dirk looks that happy because Todd loves him.

Loves him _back_.

“Oh,” Todd says.

He wasn’t actually prepared for things to go this way – as in, well. He wasn’t actually prepared for things to go _well_.

There’s a sudden pressure in his throat. “And you don’t just see me as a man? You – you see me as …”

“As … nonbinary?” Dirk’s voice is steady, as if he understands exactly what Todd’s trying to say.

_Because he does_, Todd thinks. Dirk does understand.

“Yeah.”

Dirk nods. “Yes. Of _course_ I do.”

There’s a moment where they both just smile like saps at each other, before Dirk speaks again, his voice half-teasing. “You’re always doing that, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“Proving …” Dirk’s voice strains for a moment. “Proving that I’m not alone.”

“Dirk …” Todd has no idea what to say to that, how to even begin expressing how deeply held that particular ideal is to him. If it were up to him – and, as the case may be, it might actually be up to him now – Todd would make sure that Dirk never felt alone again.

Dirk threads his fingers through Todd’s, and with a start, Todd realises they’re still holding on to one another. He looks at their hands intertwined in Dirk’s lap – Dirk’s bare nails, his own chipped ones, still half-covered with a floral design from a couple of weeks ago – and feels his feet find the floor once more. The weight is gone from his chest, but he isn’t untethered or lost. He knows exactly who he is, and exactly where he stands with the person before him.

“Todd?” Dirk’s voice has turned soft and quiet again.

It mirrors the hopeful expression on his face when Todd looks up again.

“Yeah?”

“The tea’s getting cold.”

“Oh.” Todd feels himself flushing, and goes to take a step back, apologies already at his lips.

But Dirk holds fast to his hands, not letting him move. Todd stills.

“_So_,” Dirk says in a very deliberate tone, “I think you should kiss me sooner rather than later.”

And what can Todd possibly say to that that?

He steps in close once more, standing between Dirk’s legs, and turns his face up to Dirk’s, waiting for just the right moment – for just when he hears Dirk’s breath hitch. Just when he feels Dirk’s fingers tighten around his own.

_Right there._

Todd brings their lips together and kisses Dirk the way he should have done months ago. He kisses him with their hands joined, and moves so carefully – almost too lightly, _too_ delicately, but – not quite. Not for a first kiss. Not for something so new, and too precious to handle roughly.

Todd pulls back, but Dirk’s mouth is already chasing his, and he smiles into their second kiss. He opens his mouth to deepen it just a little, and Dirk makes a soft, wonderful noise in his throat. Todd breaks away again, to take a shuddering breath – two kisses in and he’s already forgetting how to breathe.

“Todd,” Dirk says, and his voice is low, “Keep kissing me.”

Todd, for once, doesn’t feel the need to explain or equivocate anything at all. Instead he smiles, and in lieu of answering Dirk with words, he leans in again, remembering to breathe, knowing that Dirk sees him for exactly who is he and who he’s becoming – and kisses Dirk until their tea goes stone cold.

~

“Tina says she’s happy with her nails,” Dirk announces, entering Todd’s room with a half-skip of excitement, before banging his elbow on the doorway and swearing loudly.

Todd, from his position cross-legged on the floor, pauses to let Dirk cope with that series of unfortunate events before responding. “Does my eyeliner look okay?”

“Todd! I _hurt_ mself,” Dirk says, with a pout. “And I think I deserve some sympathy before you go about asking me to approve your crooked eyeballs for public consumption.”

“Damnit,” Todd mutters, looking into his hand mirror. This is what he gets for never going full emo – he’s never gonna understand how to apply eyeliner that doesn’t look like he just got punched in the face. Although admittedly that had kinda been the point of the emo look, so maybe Todd’s just doomed either way.

“It can’t be that much harder than nail polish,” Dirk points out, flopping down onto the floorboards, before sitting up to kiss Todd’s cheek, then lying flat on his back once more.

“Yeah,” Todd says distractedly, trying to fix his mistakes, “but I’ve had a solid year to get good at that. I’m glad Tina liked her nails, by the way.”

“Oh, she more than liked them. She, and I quote, said that they were the dopest shit she’d even seen, and you henceforth have free reign over her future nail art.”

Todd wipes off a smidgen of eyeliner before giving up on trying to make his eyes any more presentable. “Yeah, well, since _you_ gave up on it …”

Dirk sits up, looking highly affronted. “I can’t help it if the Universe decided to drop a golden opportunity into my lap for me to spend time holding hands with the person I love.”

Todd snorts. In the aftermath of making things official with Dirk, Dirk had begun spending a lot less time on nail art until finally confessing that he’d mostly only stuck with it for so long, at such an intensity, because he liked spending time with Todd.

It’s not that Dirk doesn’t like nail art – he still does it sometimes. But it’s a lot less intense than it used to be – usually just some stamps and glitter, if that. And Todd’s come to like doing it himself a lot more anyway.

It’s all kind of become apart of the whole … process, towards expressing himself a little differently. Even back before he realised he wasn’t a man, when the agency first started up – even then, he’d been experimenting. It all started with patterns other than plaid. Now it’s progressed into jewelry, women’s shirts and sweaters, bright colors and even the occasional pastel. And sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly brave – like today, like at Pride – he tries make-up.

He’s not on Dirk’s level yet. Most of the time, Todd sticks to wearing what he likes just around the agency, whereas Dirk actually wears things in public. Neither of them have tried wearing a skirt or a dress in public, though.

Not until today.

Today, Dirk’s wearing a sunflower yellow skirt that stops just below his knees. It’s made of tulle, a fabric that Dirk named for Todd (in all his ignorance of fabric types) when they bought it. Dirk had been thrumming with equal parts excitement and nerves.

It looks perfect. Dirk’s paired it with one of his white shirts, open at the collar, and a necklace with a yellow rose charm. He looks entirely like himself, which is the best part of all, in Todd’s unbiased opinion.

Todd gives himself one last look over in the mirror. Slightly sloppy eyeliner. Fake earrings – he can’t risk getting them pierced with pararibulitis – but they look real enough. Amanda’s _queer as in fuck you_ shirt. And the feather boa from last year, courtesy of Tina, who’d held onto it and handed it to him about fifteen minutes earlier downstairs.

In all he looks pretty much like he did last year, apart from a few small changes. But that’s okay – he’s taking it slow, and between that, plus Dirk being there every step of the way, Todd’s not scared of becoming himself any more. He puts the mirror down, reassured.

“Ready to go?”

Dirk leans a head on his shoulder. “Yes. But – you’re sure I look …” He trails off.

Dirk’s always been more confident than Todd when it comes to – well, a lot of things. Especially gender expression.

But that doesn’t mean he never has any doubts.

“You look beautiful, Dirk,” Todd says, kissing him on his forehead. “And if it’s too much – I mean, you know Farah’s already thought up a thousand contingency plans.”

Dirk nods, rubbing his face against Todd’s shoulder. “I know, I know, you’re right.” He turns his face into Todd’s neck.

Todd checks the time on his phone. “Speaking of Farah, she’s gonna be so mad if we’re not downstairs in a minute.”

“Busy,” Dirk says, muffled. “Cuddling.”

“Not if I push you off.”

Dirk gasps and pulls back. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“No,” Todd says, standing. “But I would trick you into doing it for me. Love you!”

And with that, he makes a quick exit out of the room and down the hall, to Dirk’s indignation. Todd laughs as he hears Dirk scramble to get up and chase after him.

It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last that Todd will feel so happy that he actually can’t think of the words to describe it. But as Dirk manages to catch up with him on the stairs, grabbing his waist – to Farah’s dismay as she rounds the corner to see what they’re up to – Todd knows that it will feel equally as surprising, and as precious, every single time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha um
> 
> hey guys
> 
> I'm back! And Todd's okay. And they kissed. And they're both on journeys of self-discovery together. And the last time I wrote a fic about a NB character I got accused of being bigoted because that character didn't use they/them pronouns. Not all NB people use they/them pronouns. Todd and Dirk are still progressing through exploring their identities in any case. Please don't be weird. Hate that I have to say that.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, leave a comment! This fic has ... been extremely personal, which is probably obvious, and I'm quite proud of what I've done. Thanks <3

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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